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CHARLES 
DI  TO  CCA 

GALE 


RICE 


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CHARLES  DI  TOCCA 


CHARLES    DI     TOCCA 

A   Tragedy 

By 

Cole  Young  Rice 


ALDI 


AMER 
ICAN 


McClure,  Phillips  $  Co. 

New  York 

1903 


COPTBIQHT,   1903,   BY 

CALE   YOUNG   RICE 


Published,     March,     1903,  R 


fS  353$ 


To  My  Wife 


CHARLES  DI  TOCCA 


CHARLES   DI   TOCCA 
A   Tragedy 

CHARLES  DI  TOCCA  .     .  \  ^ofLeucadia,  Tyrant,  of 

(        Arta9  etc. 


ANTONIO  DI  TOCCA  .     .  His  son. 

H^MON  .......  A  Greek  noble. 

BARD  AS  .......  His  friend. 

CARDINAL  JULIAN    .     .  The  Popes  Legate. 

AGABUS  .......  A  mad  monk. 

CECCO  ........  Seneschal  of  the  Castle. 

FULVIA  COLONNA      .     .  Under  the  duke's  protection. 

HELENA  .......  Sister  to  Hamon. 

GIULIA    .......  Serving  Fulvia. 

PAULA     .......  Serving  Helena. 

LYGIA  ^ 

PHAON. 

Revellers. 
ZOE 

BASIL 

NARDO,    a  boy,    and   DIOGENES,    a  philosopher. 

A  Captain  of  the  Guard,  Soldiers,  Guests, 

Attendants,  etc. 

Time:   Fifteenth  Century. 


ACT   ONE 

Scene. — The  Island  Leucadia.  A  ruined  temple 
of  Apollo  near  the  town  of  PJiaro.  Broken 
columns  and  stones  are  strewn,  or  stand  deso 
lately  about.  It  is  night — the  moon  rising. 
ANTONIO,  who  has  been  waiting  impatiently, 
seats  himself  on  a  stone.  By  a  road  near 
the  ruins  FULVIA  enters,  cloaked. 

ANTONIO  (turning)  :  Helen ! 

FULVIA  :  A  comely  name,  my  lord. 

ANTONIO  :  Ah,  you  ? 

My  father's  unforgetting  Fulvia  ? 

FULVIA  :  At  least  not  Helena,  whoe'er  she  be. 

ANTONIO  :  And  did  I  call  you  so  ? 

FULVIA  :  Unless  it  is 

These  stones  have  tongue  and  passion. 
[3] 


CHARLES    DI    TO  CCA 

. ;  A\    . «'  Then  the  night 

Recalling  dreams  of  dim  antiquity's 
Heroic  bloom  worked  on  me. — But  whence  are 
Your  steps,  so  late,  alone  ? 

FULVIA  :  From  the  Cardinal, 

Who  has  but  come. 

ANTONIO  :  What  comfort  there  ? 

FULVIA  :  With  doom 

The  moody  bolt  of  Rome  broods  over  us. 

ANTONIO  :  My  father  will  not  bind  his  heresy  ? 
FULVIA  :  You  with  him  walked  to-day.     What 

said  he  ? 

ANTONIO  :  I  ? 

With  him  to-day?     Ah,  true.     What   may  be 

done  ? 
FULVIA  :  He  has  been  strange  of  late  and  silent, 

laughs, 

Seeing  the  Cross,  but  softly  and  almost 
As  it  were  some  sweet  thing  he  loved. 
[4] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

ANTONIO  (absently)  :  As  if 

'Twere  some  sweet  thing — he  laughs — is  strange 

— you  say  ? 

FULVIA  :  Stranger  than  is  Antonio  his  son, 
Who  but  for  some  expectancy  is  vacant. 

(She  makes  to  go.) 

ANTONIO  :  Stay,  Ful via,  though  I  am  not  in  poise. 
Last  night  I  dreamed  of  you :  in  vain  you  hovered 
To  reach  me  from  the  coil  of  swift  Charybdis. 

(A  low  cry,  ANTONIO  starts.) 
FULVIA  :  A  woman's  voice  ! 
(Looking  down  the  road.) 

And  hasting  here ! 

ANTONIO  :  Alone  ? 

FULVIA  :  No,  with  another  ! 
ANTONIO  :  Go,  then,  Ful  via. 

'Tis  one  would  speak  with  me. 

FULVIA:  Ah?  (She goes.) 

Enter  HELENA  frightedly  with  PAULA. 
[5] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

HELENA  :  Antonio  ! 

ANTONIO  :  My  Helena,  what  is  it  ?    You  are  wan 
And  tremble  as  a  blossom  quick  with  fear 
Of  shattering.     What  is  it  ?     Speak. 

HELENA  :  Not  true  ! 
O,  'tis  not  true! 

ANTONIO  :  What  have  you  chanced  upon  ? 

HELENA  :  Say  no  to  me,  say  no,  and  no  again  ! 

ANTONIO  :  Say  no,  and  no  ? 

HELENA  :  Yes  ;  I  am  reeling,  wrung, 

With  one  glance  o'er  the  precipice  of  ill ! 
Say  his  incanted  prophecies  spring  from 
No  power  that's  more  than  frenzied  fantasy  ! 

ANTONIO  :  Who  prophesies  ?     Who  now  upon 

this  isle 

More  than  visible  and  present  day 
Can  gather  to  his  eye  ?     Tell  me. 

HELENA  :  The  monk — 

Ah,  chide  me  not ! — mad  Agabus,  who  can 
[6] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Unsphere  dark  spirits  from  their  evil  airs 

And  show  all  things  of  love  or  death,  seized  me 

As  hither  I  stole  to  thee.     With  wild  looks 

And  wilder  lips  he  vented  on  my  ear 

Boding  more  wild  than  both.     "  Sappho  !  "    he 

cried, 

"  Sappho  !  Sappho  ! "  and  probed  my  eyes  as  if 
Destiny  moved  dark-visaged  in  their  deeps. 
Then  tore  his  rags  and  moaned,  "  So  young,  to 

cease ! " 

Gazed  then  out  into  awful  vacancy  ; 
And  whispered  hotly,  following  his  gaze, 
"  The  Shadow  !  Shadow  !  " 

ANTONIO  :  This  is  but  a  whim, 

A  sudden  gloomy  surge  of  superstition. 
Put  it  from  you,  my  Helena. 

HELENA  :  But  he 

Has  often  cleft  the  future  with  his  ken, 
Seen  through  it  to  some  lurking  misery 

m 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

And  mar  of  love  :  or  the  dim  knell  of  death 
Heard  and  revealed. 

ANTONIO  :  A  witless  monk  who  thinks 

God  lives  but  to  fulfil  his  prophecies  ! 

HELENA  :  You   know   him   not.     'Tis  told    in 

youth  he  loved 

One  treacherous,  and  in  avenge  made  fierce 
Treaty  with  Hell  that  lends  him  sight  of  all 
Ills  that  arise  from  it  to  mated  hearts  ! 
Yet    look    not    so,    my    lord !      I'll    trust   thine 

eyes 

That  tell  me  love  is  master  of  all  times, 
And  thou  of  all  love  master  ! 

ANTONIO  :  And  of  thee  ? 

Then  will  the  winds  return  unto  the  night 
And  flute  us  lover  songs  of  happiness  ! 

HELENA  :  Nor  dare  upon  a  duller  note  while 

here 
We  tryst  beneath  the  moon  ? 

[8] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

ANTONIO  :  My  perfect  Greek  ! 

Athene  looks  again  out  of  thy  lids. 
And  Venus  trembles  in  thy  every  limb ! 

HELENA  :  Not  Venus,  ah,  not  Venus  ! 

ANTONIO  :  Now  ;  again  r 

HELENA  :  'Twas  on  this  temple's  ancient  gate 

she  found 

Wounded  Adonis  dead,  and  to  forget, 
Like  Sappho  leaped,  'tis  said,  from  yonder  cliff 
Down  to  the  waves'  oblivion  below. 

ANTONIO  :  And  will  you  read  such  terror  in  a 
tale? 

HELENA  :  Forgive  me,  then. 

ANTONIO  :  Surely  you  are  unstrung, 

And  yet  there  is (Turns  away  from  her.) 

HELENA  :  Is  what  ?  Antonio  ? 

ANTONIO  :  Nothing :  I  who  must  ebb  with  you 

and  flow 
A  little  was  moved. 

[9] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

HELENA  :  Not  you,  not  you !      I'll  change 

My  tears  to  laughter,  if  but  fantasy 
May  so  unmettle  you  !     Not  moved,  indeed ! 
Not  moved,  Antonio  ? 

ANTONIO  :  Well,  let  us  off, 

My  Helena,  with  these  numb  awes  that  wind 
About  our  joy. 

HELENA  :  Thy  kiss  then,  for  it  can 

Drive  all  gloom  out  of  the  world  ! 

ANTONIO  -.  And  thine,  my  own, 

On    Fate's    hard    brow    would    shame    it    of  all 
frown  ! 

HELENA  :  Yet  is  thine  mightier,  for  no  frown 

can  be 
When  no  more  gloom's  in  the  world  ! 

ANTONIO  :                                       But  'tis  thy  lips 
That  lend  it  might.     If  I  pressed  other 

HELENA  :  Other ! 

You  should  not  know  that  any  other  lips 
[10] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Could  e'er  be  pressed ;  111  have  no  kiss  but  his 
Who  is  all  blind  to  every  mouth  but  mine ! 

(Breaks  from  him.) 
ANTONIO:  Oh  ?— Well. 
HELENA:  "  Oh— well  ?  "—Then  it  is  well  I 

go! 

ANTONIO  :  Perhaps. 

HELENA  :  "  Perhaps  ! "     (Makes  to  go.) 

ANTONIO  :  Good-night. 

HELENA  (returning)  :  Antonio ? 

ANTONIO  :  Ah  !  still ? 

HELENA  :       There's  gloom  in  the  world  again. 
ANTONIO  (kissing  her)  :  'Tis  gone  ? 

HELENA  :  Not  all,  I  think. 
ANTONIO  :  Two  for  so  small  a  gloom  ? 

(Kisses  her  again.) 
HELENA  :  So  small ! 

ANTONIO  :  And  still  you  sigh  ? 

HELENA  :  The  vainest  glooms 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

To-night  seem  ominous — as  cloud-flakes  flung 
Upward  before  the  heaving  of  the  west. 

(In  fright)         Oh ! 
ANTONIO  :  Helena ! 

HELENA  :  See,  see  !  'tis  Agabus  ! 

Enter  AGABUS  unkempt  and  distracted. 
AGABUS  :  O — lovers  !  lovers  !     Lord  have  none 
of  them ! 

ANTONIO  :  Good  monk 

AGABUS  :  O — yes,  yes,  yes.    You'd  give  me  gold 
To  pray  for  your  two  souls.     (Crossing  himself.) 

Not  I !     Not  I ! 

Know  you  not  love  is  brewed  of  lust  and  fire  ? 
It  gnaws  and  burns,  until  the  Shadow — Sir, 

(Searching  about  the  air.) 
Have  you  not  seen  a  Shadow  pass  ? 

ANTONIO  :  A  Shadow  ? 

AGABUS:  Silent  and    cold.     A-times  they  call 
him  Death : 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Fd    have    him    for    my    brain — it    shakes    with 
fever. 

(Goes  searching  anxiously. 

HELENA  :  Antonio 

ANTONIO  :  You're  calm  ? 

HELENA  :  Yes,  very  calm — 

Of  impotence — as  one  who  in  a  tomb 
Awakes  and  waits  ? 

ANTONIO  :  He  is  but  mad. 

HELENA  :  But  mad. 

ANTONIO  :  Yet  fear  you  ?  still  ? 

(A  shout  is  heard.) 

HELENA  :  Who  is  it  ?  soldiers  come 

From  Arta? 
ANTONIO  :  Yes. 

HELENA  :  And  by  this  road  ! — They  must 

Not  see  us ! 

ANTONIO:  No.    But  quick,  within  this  breach! 
(They   conceal   themselves   in   the   breach. 
[13] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

The  soldiers  pass  across  the  stage.     The 
last,  as  all  shout  "  DI  TOCCA  ! "  strikes  a 
column  near  him.     It  falls,  and  HELENA 
starts  forward  shuddering.) 
HELENA  :  Fallen  !     Ah,  fallen  !     See,  Antonio  ! 
ANTONIO  :  What  now  ! 
HELENA  (swaying)  :  It  is  as  if  the  earth  were 

wind 
Under  my  feet ! 

ANTONIO  :  Are  all  things  thus  become 

Omen  and  dread  to  you  ? 

HELENA  :  O,  but  it  is 

The  pillar  grieving  Venus  leant  upon 
Ere  to  forget  she  leapt,  and  wrote, 

When  falls  this  pillar  tall  and  proud 
Let  surest  lovers  weave  their  shroud. 
ANTONIO  :  Mere  myth  ! 

HELENA  :  The  shroud !    It  coldly  winds  about 
us — coldly ! 

[14] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

ANTONIO  :  Should  a  vain  hap    so    desperately 
move  you  ? 

HELENA  :  The  breath  and  secret  soul  of  all  this 

night 
Are  burdened  with  foreboding  !     And  it  seems — 

ANTONIO  :  You  must  not,  Helena  ! 

HELENA  :  My  love,  my  lord — 

Touch  me  lest  I  forget  my  natural  flesh 
In  this  unnatural  awe !     (He  takes  her  to  him.) 

Ah  how  thy  arms 

Warm  the  cold  moan  and  misery  of  fear 
Out  of  my  veins  ! 

ANTONIO  :  You  rave,  but  in  me  stir 

Again  the  attraction  of  these  dim  portents. 
Nay,  quiver  not !  'tis  but  a  passing  mist, 
And  this  that  runs  in  us  is  worthless  dread ! 

HELENA  :  But  ah,  the  shroud  !  the  shroud  ! 

ANTONIO  :  We'll  weave  no  shroud, 

But  wedding  robes  and  wreaths  and  pageantry  ! 
[15] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

And  you  shall  be  my  Sappho — but  through  joys 

Such  as  shall  legend  ecstasy  about 

Our  knitted  names  when  distant  lovers  dream. 

HELENA  :  I'll  fear  no  more,  then 

ANTONIO  :  Yet  ? 

HELENA  :  My  lord,  let  us 

Unloose  this  strangling  secrecy  and  be 
Open  in  love.     My  brother,  Haemon,  let 
Our  hearts  betrothed  exchange  and  hope  be  told 
Him  and  thy  father ! 

ANTONIO  :  This  cannot  be — now, 

HELENA  :  It  cannot  be,  and  you  a  god  ?    Ill 

bow 
Before  your  eyes  no  more ! — say  that  it  can  ! 

ANTONIO  :  Not  yet — not  now.     Haemon's  sus 
picious,  quick, 

And  melancholy :  must  be  won  with  service. 
And  you  are  Greek,  a  name  till  yesterday 
I  never  knew  pass  in  the  portal  to 
[16] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

My  father's  ear,  but  it  came  out  his  mouth 
Headlong  and  dark  with  curses. 

HELENA  :  Yet  of  late 

He  oft  has  smiled  upon  me  as  he  passed. 

ANTONIO  :  On   you — my   father  ?     O,  he   only 

dreamt, 
And  saw  you  not. 

HELENA  :  Then  have  you  also  dreamt ! 

He  looked  as  you,  when,  moonlight  in  my  hair, 
You  call  me 

ANTONIO  :  Stay  :  111  call  you  so  no  more. 

HELENA  :  Youll  call  me  so  no  more  ? 

ANTONIO  :  No  more. 

HELENA  :  Why  do 

You  say  so — is  it  kind  ? 

ANTONIO  :  Why  ? — why  ?     Because 

Words  were  they  miracles  of  beauty  could 
As  little  reveal  you  as  a  taper's  ray 
The  lone  profundity  and  space  of  night ! 
[17] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

HELENA  :  And  yet 

ANTONIO  :  And  yet  ? 

HELENA  :  111  hold  you  not  too  false 

If  sometimes  they  trip  out  upon  your  lips. 

ANTONIO  :  Or  to  my  father's  eye  ? 

HELENA  :  If  he  but  look 

Upon  me  for  thy  sake. 

ANTONIO  :  He  smiled,  you  say  ? 

HELENA  :  Gently,  as  one   might  in  forgetting 
pain. 

ANTONIO  :  Perhaps :    for  some  unwonted  soft 
ness  seems 

Near  him.     But  yesterday  he  called  for  song, 
Dancing  and  wine. 

HELENA  :         Then  tell  him  !     These  are  years 
So  dyed  in  crime  that  secrecy  must  seem 
Yoke- mate  of  guilt. 

ANTONIO  :        Fear  has  bewitched  you — shame  ! 

HELENA  :  Antonio,  love's  wave  has  cast  us  high  . 
[18] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

I  would  do  all  lest  now  it  turn  to  fate 

Under  our  feet  and  draw  us  out 

ANTONIO  :  Twill  not ! 

Enter  PAULA. 

PAULA  :  My  lady,  some  one  comes. 

HELENA  :  And  is  the  world 

Not  space  enough  but  he  must  needs  come  here ! 
If  it  were ? 

ANTONIO  :  Haemon  ? — Twere  perhaps  not  ill. 

HELENA  :  I    know    not !     Brooding*   smoulder 

from  his  moods 
Feverous  bitter. 

ANTONIO  :  Kindness   then  shall  quench    them. 
But  now,  away.     Forget  this  dread  and  be  you 
By  day  my  lark,  by  night  my  nightingale, 
Not  a  sad  bird  of  boding  ! 

HELENA  :  With  the  day 

All  will  be  well. 

ANTONIO  :  Remember  then  you  are 

[19] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Only  a  little  stept  from  your  life's  shore 
Out  on  the  infinite  of  love,  whose  air 
Is  awe  and  mystery. 

HELENA  :  I  go,  my  lord. 

Think  of  me  oft ! 
ANTONIO  (taking  her  in  his  arms)  :  My  Helena  ! 

(She  goes  with  PAULA.     He  steps  aside  and 
watches  the  approaching  forms.) 

"Tis  Haemon ! 
My  father ! 

Enter  CHARLES  friendly,  with  H^MON. 
CHARLES  :  So,  no  farther  ?  you'll  stop  here  ? 

H^MON  :  Sir,  if  you  grant  it.     I 

CHARLES  (twittingly)  :  Some  rendezvous  ? 

Who  is  she  ?     Ah,  young  blood  and  Spring  and 

night ! 

H^MON  :  No  rendezvous,  my  lord. 
CHARLES  :  Some  lay  then  you 

Would  muse  on  ? 

[20] 


CHARLES   DI   TOCCA 

HEMON  :  Yes,  a  lay. 

CHARLES  :  And  one  of  love  ? 

The  word,  you  see,  founts  easy  to  my  lips. 
(With  confidential  archness.)  Tis    recent    in   my 
thought — as  you  will  learn. 

HEMON  :  How,  sir,  and  when  ? 

CHARLES  :          O,  when  ?     Be  not  surprised  ! — 
Well,  to  the  lay  ! 

(He  goes. 

HEMON  :  Cruel !     His  soldiers  waste 

The  bread  of  honesty,  the  hope  of  age  ! 
Are  drunken,  bloody,  indolent,  and  lust 
To  tear  all  innocence  away  and  robe 
Our  loveliest  in  shame ! — Yet  me,  a  Greek, 
He  suddenly  befriends ! 

ANTONIO  (coming  forward)  :  Hemon 

HEMON  :  Ah,  you  ? 

ANTONIO  :  There's  room  between  your  tone  and 
courtesy. 

[21] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

HEMON  :  And  shall  be  while  I'm  readier  to  bend 
Over  a  beggar's  pain  than  prince's  fingers. 

ANTONIO  :  And  yet  you  know  me  better 

HEMON  :  Than  to  believe 

You're  not  Antonio,  son  of  Charles  di  Tocca  ? 

ANTONIO  :  I'd  be  your  friend. 

HEMON  :  So  would  he  :  and  he  smiles. 

ANTONIO  :  There  are  deep  reasons  for  it. 

HEMON  :  With  him  too  ! 

Against  a  miracle,  you  are  his  heir ! 

ANTONIO  :  I  think  it  would  be  well  for  you  to 

listen. 
My  confidence  once  curbed 

H^MON  :  May  bite  and  paw  ? 

Let  it !  for  fools  are  threats,  and  cowards.    Were 
You  Tamerlane  and  mine  the  skull  should  cap 
A  bloody  pyramid  of  enemies, 
I'd ! 

ANTONIO  :  Hear  me.     Will  you  be  so  blind  ? 
[22] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

HJIMON  :  To  your 

Fair  graces  ?    No,  my  lord — not  so.     Your  sword 
And  doublet  are  sublimely  worn  !  sublimely  ! 
Your    curls    would    tempt   an    empress"    fingers, 
and 

ANTONIO  :  Why  is  my  anger  silent  ? 

HEMON  :  Let  it  speak 

And    not    this    subtle    pride !      You    would    be 

friend, 

A  friend  to  me — a  friend  ! — Did  not  your  father 
Into  a  sick  and  sunless  keep  cast  mine 
Because  he  was  a  Greek  and  still  a  Greek, 
And  would  not  be  a  slave  ?     His  cunning  has 
Not  whispered  death  about  him  as  a  pest  ? 
He — he,  my  friend  ?  and  you  ? — And  I  on  him 
Should  lean,  and  flatter ? 

ANTONIO  :  Cease :  though  he  has  stains 

The  times  are  tyrannous  and  men  like  beasts 
Find  mercy  preservation's  enemy. 
[23] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

You're  heated  with  suspicion  and  old  wrong, 
But  take  my  hand  as  pledge 

HEMON  (refusing  it)  :  That  you'll  be  false  ? 
Enter  BARDAS. 

BARDAS  :  I've  sought  you,  Hsemon.     Antonio  ? 

We  are 

Well  met  then  :  to  your  doors  my  want  was  bent 
With  a  request. 

ANTONIO  :  Which  gladly  I  shall  hear 

And  if  I  can  will  grant. 

BARDAS  :  My  haste  is  blunt — 

As  is  my  tongue. 

HEMON  :  Then  yield  it  us  at  once, 

Our  mood  is  so. 

BARDAS  :  Haemon,  I  love  your  sister. 

Not  love  :  I  am  idolatrous  before 
Her  foot's    least   print,   and   cannot    breathe  or 

pray 

But  where  she's  sometime  been  and  left  a  heaven  ! 
[24] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

H.EMON  :  Therefore  you'll  cry  it  maudlin  at  the 
streets  ? 

BARDAS  :  Necessity's  not  over  delicate. 
Antonio,  sue  for  me.     You  have  been  apt 
In  all  love's  skill  they  say.     My  oath  on  it 
Your  words  once  sown  upon  her  listening 
Would  not  lie  fruitless  did  they  bid  her  yield 
More  than  her  most. 

HEMON  :  Bardas  !     Do  you — Does  such 

Unseemliness  run  in  your  thought  ? 

BARDAS  :  Peace,  Haemon. 

Antonio,  speak. 

ANTONIO  :  You're  strange  in  this  request. 

Helena,  whom  I've  seen,  would  little  thank 
The  eyes  that  told  her  own  where  they  should 
love. 

BARDAS  :  I  saved  your  life,  my  lord. 

ANTONIO  :  And  I've  besought 

Occasion  oft  for  loaning  of  some  chance 
[25] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Worthily  to  repay  you.     If  'tis  this, 
I  am  distrest.     I  cannot  plead  your  suit. 

BARDAS  :  You  cannot  or  you  will  not  ? 

ANTONIO  :  I  have  said. 

Ask  me  for  service  on  your  foes,  for  gold, 
Faith  or  devotion,  friendship  you're  aloof  to, 
For  all  that  will  and  honor  well  may  render 
With  nicety,  and  I'll  be  wings  and  heart, 
More — drudge  to  your  desire. 

HEMON  :  Nobly,  my  lord  ! 

Bardas,  you  must  atone 

BARDAS  :  Peace,  Haemon. 

HEMON  :  Peace 

Is  goad  and  gall !     Why  do  you  burn  my  cheek 
With  this  indignity  ? 

BARDAS  :  Do  you  ask  why  ?  (to  ANTONIO.) 

A  little  since  one  of  your  father's  guard 
Gave  his  command  in  seal  to  Helena 
Upon  the  streets,  to  instantly  repair 
[26] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Unto  his  halls — which  she  must  henceforth  honor. 
You  knew  it  not  ? 

ANTONIO  :  My  father  ? 

BARDAS  :  O,  well  feigned. 

Be  sure  none  will  suspect  he  is  too  old 
For  knightly  feat  like  this — and  that  he  has 
A  son ! 

ANTONIO  :  To  Helena  !  my  father  !  sealed  ! 

H.EMON  :  Bardas,  you  bring  the  truth  ? — And 

so,  my  lord, 
You  stab  me  through  another — you,  my  friend? 

ANTONIO  (to  BARDAS)  :  Do  you  mean  that ? 

BARDAS  :  Until  this  hour  I  held 

The  race  of  Charles  di  Tocca  bold,  or  other 
But  empty  of  all  lies  in  deed  or  speech, 
It  grows — a  little  low  ? 

ANTONIO  :  Why  you  are  mad  ! 

Are  mad  !     I'm  naked  of  this  thing,  and  hide 
No  guilt  behind  the  wonder  of  my  face. 
[27] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

For  Paradises  brimming  with  all  Beauty 
I  would  not  lay  one  fancy's  weight  of  shame 
On  her  you  name  ! 

BARDAS  :  A  pretty  protest — but 

A  breath  too  heavenly. 

ANTONIO  :  Leave  sneering  there  ! 

You  have  repaid  yourself — cast  on  me  words 
Intolerable  more  than  loss  of  life. 
You  both  shall  learn  this  night's  entangling. 
But  know,  between  her,  Helena,  and  shame 
I  burn  with  flaming  heart  and  fearless  hand ! 

(Goes  angrily. 

H^MON  :  He  can  be  false  and  wear  this  mien 
of  truth  ? 

BARDAS  :  I'll  not  believe  ! 

H^MON  :  But,  what :  my  sister  seized  ? 

BARDAS  :  Ah,  what ! — "  He  burns  with  flaming 

heart !  " — have  we 

No  flesh  to  understand  this  passion  then  ? 
[28] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Bound  to  the  wings  of  wide  ambition  he 
Will  choose  undowered  worth  ? — To  the  ordeal 
Of  mere  suspicion's  flaming  Fd  not  trust 
The  fairness  of  his  name  ;  but  doubts  in  me 
Are  sunk  with  proofs. 

H.EMON  :  No,  no ! 

BARDAS  :  Unyielding. 

H.EMON  :  Proof? 

He  could  not.     No  !  he  dare  not ! 

BARDAS  :  Yet  the  rogue 

Cecco,  the  duke's  half-seneschal,  half-spy, 
I  passed  upon  the  streets  overmuch  in  wine, 
Leaning  upon  a  tipsier  jade  and  spouting 
With  drunken  mockery, 

"  '  Sweet  Helena  !  Fair  Helena ! '  Pluck  me, 
wench,  but  the  lord  Antonio  knows  sound  nuts ! 
And  sly  !  Why  hear  you  now  !  he  gets  the  duke 
to  seize  on  the  maid !  The  fox  !  The  rat ! 
Have  I  not  heard  him  in  his  chamber  these 
[29] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

thirty  nights  puff  her  name  out  his  window  with 
as  many  honeyed  drawls  of  passion  as — as — as — 
June  has  buds  ?  '  Sweet  Helena  ! ' — la !  '  Fair 
Helena  ! ' — O  !  '  Dear  Helena  !  my  rose  !  my 
queen !  my  sun  and  moon  and  stars  !  Thy  kiss 
is  still  at  my  lips,  thy  breast  beats  still  on  mine ! 
my  Helena  ! ' — Um  !  Oh,  'tmust  be  a  rare  damsel. 
I'll  make  a  sluice  between  her  purse  and  mine, 
wench  ;  do  you  hear  ?  " 

HEMON  :     Well— well  ? 

BARDAS  :     No  more.     When  I  had  struck  him 

down, 

He  swore  it  was  unswerving  all  and  truth. 
Hasting  to  warn  I  found  Helena  ta'en 
And  sought  you  here. 

HEMON  (grasping  his  brows)  :  Ah  ! 

BARDAS  :  Helena  who  is 

All  purity ! 

HEMON  :  Ah  sister,  child  ! — Have  I 

[30] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

With  strength  been  father  and  with  tenderness 

A  mother  been  to  her  unfolding  years 

But  to  see  now  unchastest  cruelty 

Pluck  her  white  bloom  to  ease  his  idle  sense 

One  fragrant  hour  ? — If  it  be  so,  no  flowers 

Should  blossom  ;  only  weeds  whose  withering 

Can  hurt  no  heart ! 

BARDAS  :       These  tears  should  seal  fierce  oaths 
Against  him  ! 

HEMON  :        And  they  shall !  until  God  wrecks 
Him  in  the  tempest  raised  of  his  outrage ! 

BARDAS  :  Then  may  I  be  the  rock  on  which  he 

breaks ! 

But  hear ;  who  comes  ?     (Revellers  are  heard  ap 
proaching.) 

We  must  aside  until 

This  mirth  is  past.     (They  conceal  themselves.) 
Enter   revellers   dressed  as   bacchanals   and  bac 
chantes,  dancing  and  singing. 
[31] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Bacchus,  hey  !  was  a  god,  hei-yo  ! 

The  vine  !  a  fig  for  the  rest ! 

With  locks  green-crowned  and  lips  red-warm — 

The  vine  !  the  vine's  the  best ! 

He  loved  maids,  O-o-ay  !  hei-yo  ! 

The  vine  !  a  maiden's  breast ! 

He  pressed  the  grape,  and  kissed  the  maid! — 

The  cuckoo  builds  no  nest ! 

(All  go  dancing,  except  LYDIA  and  PHAON, 
who  clasps  and  kisses  her  passionately) 

LYDIA  (breaking  from  him) :  Do  you  think 
kisses  are  so  cheap  ?  You  must  know  mine  fill 
my  purse !  A  pretty  gallant  from  Naples,  with 
laces  and  silks  and  jewels  gave  me  this  ring  last 
year  for  but  one.  And  another  lover  from 
Venice  gave  me  this  (a  bracelet) — but  he  looked 
so  sad  when  he  gave  it.  Ah,  his  eyes  !  Fd  not 
have  cared  if  he  had  given  me  naught. 

PHAON  :  Here,  here,  then  !     (Offers  jewel.) 
[32] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

LYDIA  (putting  it  aside):  They  say  the  ladies 
in  Venice  ride  with  their  lovers  through  the  streets 
all  night  in  boats  :  and  the  very  moon  shines  more 
passionately  there.  Is  it  true  ? 

PHAON  :  Yes,  yes.  But  kiss  me,  Lydia  !  Take 
this  jewel — my  last.  Be  mine  to-night,  no  other's  ! 
We'll  prate  of  Venice  another  time. 

LYDIA  :  Another  time  we'll  prate  of  kisses.  I'll 
not  have  the  jewel. 

PHAON  :  Not  have  it !  Now  you're  turning 
nun  !  a  soft  and  virgin,  silly  nun  !  With  a  gray 
gown  to  hide  these  shoulders  that — shall  I  whisper 
it? 

LYDIA  :  Devil !  they're  not !  A  nice  lover  called 
them  round  and  fair  last  night.  And  I've  been 
sick  !  And — I — cruel !  cruel !  cruel !  (Revellers 
are  heard  returning.)  There,  they're  coming. 

PHAON  :  Never  mind,  my  girl.    But  you  mustn't 
scorn  a  man's  blood  when  it's  afire. 
[33] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Re-enter  Revellers  singing 
Bacchus,  hey  !  was  a  god,  hei-yo  !  etc. 

(After  which  all  go,  except  ZOE  and  BASIL. 

ZOE  :  O!  O  !  O  !  but  'tis  brave  !    Wine,  Basil ! 

Wine,  my  knight,  my  Bacchus  !     Ho  !   ho  !  my 

god !  you  wheeze  like  a  cross-bow.     Is  it  years, 

my  wooer,  years  ? — Ah  !     (She  sighs.) 

BASIL  :  Sighs — sighs  !     Now  look  for  showers. 

ZOE  :  Basil — you  were  my  first  lover — except 

the  duke   Charles.      Ah,  did  you  see  how    that 

Helena  looked  when  they  gave   her    the   duke's 

command  ?     I  was  like  that  once.     (H^MON  starts 

forward.) 

BASIL  :  Fiends,  nymphs,  and  saints  !  it's  come  ! 
tears  in  your  eyes  !    Zoe,  stop  it.    Would  you  have 
mine  leak  and  drive  me  to  a  monastery  for  shelter  ! 
ZOE  (sings  sadly  and  absently)  : 
She  lay  by  the  river,  dead, 
A  broken  reed  in  her  hand — 
[34] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

A  nymph  whom  an  idle  god  had  wed 
And  led  from  her  maidenland. 
BASIL  :  O,  had  I  been  born  a  heathen  ! 

ZOE  :  He  told  me,  Basil,  I  should  live,  a  great 
lady,  at  his  castle.  And  they  should  kiss  my 
hand  and  courtesy  to  me.  He  meant  but  jest — 
I  feared — I  feared  !  But — I  loved  him  ! 

BASIL  :  Now,  my  damsel — ! 

ZOE  (sings)  : 

The  god  was  the  great  god  Jove, 
Two  notes  would  the  bent  reed  blow, 
The  one  was  sorrow,  the  other  love 
Enwove  with  a  woman's  woe. 

BASIL  :  Songs  and  snakes  !  Give  me  instead 
a  Dominican's  funeral !  Fd  as  lief  crawl  bare- 
kneed  to  Rome  and  mouth  the  Pope's  heel.  O 
blessed  Turks  with  their  remorseless  harems ! — 
Zoe! 

[35] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

ZOE  (sings)  : 

She  lay  by  the  river  dead : 

And  he  at  feasting  forgot. 

The  gods,  shall  they  be  disquieted 

By  dread  of  a  mortars  lot  ? 

(She  wipes  her  eyes,  trembles,  locks  at  him 

and  laughs  hysterically.) 

Bacchus  !   my  Bacchus  !   with  wet  eyes  !     Up, 
up,  lad  !  there's  many  a  cup  for  us  yet ! 

(They  go,  she  leading  and  singing. 
He  loved  maids,  O-o-ay  !  hei-yo  ! 
The  vine  !  a  maiden's  breast !  etc. 
(H^EMON  andEARDAs  look  at  each  other,  then 
start  after  them  terribly  moved.) 

CURTAIN. 


[36] 


ACT   TWO 

Scene. — An  audience  hall  in  the  castle  of  CHARLES 
DI  TOCCA  ;  the  next  afternoon.  The  dark 
stained  walls  have  been  festooned  with  vines 
andjlowers.  On  the  left  is  the  ducal  throne. 
On  the  right  sunlight  through  high-set  win 
dows.  In  the  rear  heavily  draped  doors. 
Enter  CHARLES,  who  looks  around  and  smiles 
with  subtle  content,  then  summons  a  servant. 

Enter  servant. 

CHARLES  :  The  princess  Fulvia. 
SERVANT  :  She  comes,  sir,  now. 

(Goes. 
Enter  FULVIA. 

FULVIA  :  My  lord,  flowers  and  vines  upon  these 
walls 

[37] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

That  seem  always  in  dismal  memory 
And  mist  of  grief  ?     What  means  it  ? 

CHARLES  :  That  sprung  up, 

A  greedy  multitude  upon  the  fields, 
Citron  and  olive  were  left  hungry,  so 
I  quelled  them  ! 

FULVIA  :  Magic  ever  dwells  in  flowers 

To  waft  me  back  to  childhood.     (Taking  some.) 

Poor  pluck  t  buds 

If  they  could  speak  like  children  torn  from  the 
breast. 

CHARLES  :  You're  full  of  sighs  and  pity  then  ? 

FULVIA  :  Yes,  and — 

Of  doubt. 

CHARLES  :  What  so  divides  you  ? 

FULVIA  :  Helena — 

This  Greek — I  do  not  understand. 

CHARLES  :  Nor  guess  ? 

You  have  not  seen  nor  spoken  to  her  ? 
[38] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

FULVIA  :  No. 

CHARLES  :  We'll  have  her.     (Motions  servant.) 
Go.       Say  that  we  wait  her  here, 
The  lady  Helena.  (Servant  goes. 

She's  frighted — thinks 
Tmay  be  her  father  found  too  deep  a  rest 
Within  our  care :  yet  has  a  hope  that  holds 
The    tears  still  from  her   lids.     I've    smiled   on 

her, 

Smiled,  Fulvia,  and  she — Why  do  you  cloud  ? 
FULVIA  :  I  would  this  were  undone. 
CHARLES  :  Undone  ?     Undone  ? 

You  would  it  were ? 

Enter  HELENA. 

Ah,  Greek  !     Our  Fulvia, 
Who  is  as  heart  and  health  about  our  doors, 
Has  speech  for  you.     And  polities 
Untended  groan  for  me.  ( He  goes. 

FULVIA  (looking  sadly  at  her)  :  Girl — child — 
[39] 


CHARLES  DI  TOCCA 

HELENA  :  Why  do 

You  call  me  so  with  struggle  on  your  breast  ? 

FULVIA  :  You're  very  fair. 

HELENA  :  And  was  so  free  I  thought 

The  world  brimmed  up  with  my  full  happiness. 

FULVIA  :  But  find  it  is  a  sieve  to  all  but  grief? 

HELENA  :  Is  it  then  grief?  I  have  not  any  tears. 
Yet  seem  girt  by  an  emptiness  that  aches, 
Surrounds  and  whispers  what  I  dare  not  think 
Or,  shapened,  see. 

FULVIA  :  It  stains  too  as  a  shroud 

The  morrow's  face  ? 

HELENA  :                      You  look  at  me — I  think 
You  look  at  me,  as  if- ? 

FULVIA  :  No  child. 

HELENA:       ,  ,-•...;   Why  am 

I  in  this  place  ?     You  fear  for  me  ? 

FULVIA  :  Fear  ? 

[40] 


CHARLES    DI   TOCCA 

HELENA  :  Yes ! 

A  dumb  dread  trembles  from  you  sufferingly. 

FULVIA  :  It   is   not  fear.     Or — no ! — has  van 
ished  quite, 
Ashamed  of  its  too  naked  idleness. 

HELENA  (shuddering)  :  He  cannot,  will  not ! — 
Yet  you  feared  ! 

FULVIA  :  Be  calm  : 

Beauty  is  better  so. 

HELENA  :  Ah,  you  are  cold  ! 

See  a  great  shadow  reach  and  wrap  at  me, 
Yet  lend  no  light !     By  gentleness  I  pray  you, 
What  said  he  ? 

FULVIA  :          Child 

HELENA  :  Child  ! — Ah,  a  moment's  dread 

Brings  age  on  us  ! — If  not  by  gentleness, 
Then  by  that  love  that  women  bear  to  men, 
By  happiness  too  fleeting  to  tread  earth, 
I  pray  you  tell  the  fear  your  heart  so  hides  ! 

FULVIA  :  You  are  the  guest  of  Charles  di  Tocca. 
[41] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

HELENA:  Guest? 

Ah,  guests  are  bidden,  not  commanded. — Where, 
Where  can  Antonio  be  gone.     All  day 
No  token,  quieting ! 

FULVIA  :  Antonio,  girl  ? 

Antonio  ? — Is  it  true  ? 

Re-enter  CHARLES. 

CHARLES  :  So  eager  ? — Truth 

Has  brewed  more  tears  than  lies.     But,  Fulvia, 
Why  doth  it  mated  with  Antonio's  name 
Wring  thus  your  troubled  hands  ? 

FULVIA  :  My  lord 

CHARLES  :  You  falter  ? 

No  matter — now.     (To  HELENA.)     But  you,  my 

fair  one,  put 

More  merriment  upon  your  lips  and  lids, 
And  this  (giving  pearls)  upon  the  lustre  of  your 

throat. 

Hither  our  guests  come  soon.     Be  with  us  then, 
[42] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

And  at  your  beauty's  best.    Now ;  trembling  so  ? — 
Yet  is  the  lily  lovelier  in  the  wind  ! 

(He  looks  after,  musingly,  as  she  goes. 

FULVIA  :  My  lord 

CHARLES  :  True,  Fulvia — as  titles  go. 

FULVIA  :  My  lord 

CHARLES  :  Twice — but  I'm  not  two  lords. 

FULVIA  :  To-night 

I  think  you  are.     But  quench  your  jests. 

CHARLES  :  In  tears  ? 

And  groans  ?     Where  borrow  them  ? 

FULVIA  (turning  away)  :  So  let  it  be. 

CHARLES  :  Why  do  you  say  so  be  it  and  sigh  as 
Nought  could  again  be  well  ? 

FULVIA  :  O 

CHARLES  :  Now  you  frown  ? 

FULVIA  :  The  hope  you  nurse,  then,  if  it  prove 
a  pang 

Of  serpent  bitterness 

[43] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  Prove  pang  ?     I  then 

But  for  an  "  if"  must  pluck  it  from  me  ? 

FULVIA  :  So 

I  must  believe. 

CHARLES  :         Pluck  it  from  me  !     Will  you — 
Now  will  you  have  me  mouth  and  foam  and  thresh 
The  quiet  in  me  to  a  maelstrom  !     This 
Is  mine,  this  joy ;  and  still  is  mine,  though  I 
To  keep  it  must  bring  on  me  bitterness 
And  bleeding  and — I  rage  ! 

FULVIA  :  Then  shall  I  cease, 

And  say  no  more  ?     No,  you  are  on  a  flood 
Whose  sinking  may  be  rapid  down  to  horror. 
And  she — this  girl !     It  has  been  long  since  you 
Gave  license  rein  upon  your  will,  and  spur. 
Do  not  so  now. 

CHARLES  :  License  ? 

FULVIA  :  She  is  all  morn 

And  dream  and  dew :  make  her  not  dark  ! 
[44] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  You  think — ! 

FULVIA  :   Wake  her  not,  ah,  not  suddenly  on 
terror  ! 

CHARLES:  On  terror  !     {Laughing.) 

FULVIA  :  You've  laughed  nobler. 

CHARLES  :  Fulvia, 

Friend  of  my  unrepaying  years,  dream  you 
I  who  in  empire  youth  too  soon  forgot, 
Who  on  my  brow  surprise  the  wafted  dew, 
The  presages  of  age  and  death,  shake  not  ? 

FULVIA  :  I  knew  not,  but  have  waited  oft  such 
words. 

CHARLES  :  Ah  what !  this  hope,  this  leaping  in 

me,  this 

White  dawn  across  my  turbulence  and  night, 
From  license  ? — Hear  me.      I  have  sudden  found 
A  door  to  let  in  heaven  on  my  heart. 
Had  I  not  laughed  to  see  your  dread  upon  it 
Write  "  license,11  perilous  had  been  my  frown. 
[45] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

FULVIA  :  You  will ? 

CHARLES  :  Yes — yes  !  About  her  brow  shall  curl 
The  coronet !     Her  wishes  shall  be  sceptres 
Waving  a  swift  fulfilment  to  her  feet ! 
Her  pity  shall  leave  ready  graves  unfilled, 
Her  anger  open  earth  for  all  who  offend  ! 
She  shall — — 

FULVIA  :  Ah  cease,  infatuate  man  !     Will  you 
Build  kingdoms  on  the  wind,  and  empires  on 
A  girl's  ungiven  heart  ? 

CHARLES  (slowly)  :  Unto  such  love 

As  mine  all  things  are  given. 

FULVIA  :  All  things  but  love. 

CHARLES  :  Stood  she  not  as  in  pleading  ?     Yes 

— and  to 

Her  cheeks  came  hurried  roses  from  her  heart. 
And  her  large  eyes,  did  they  not  drift  to  mine 
Caressing  ? — yet  as  if  in  them  they  found 
The  likeness  of  some  visitant  dear  dream. 
[46] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

FULVIA  :  The  likeness  of  some  dream  ? 

CHARLES  :  Question  no  more. 

She  is  set  in  the  centre  of  my  need 
As  youth  and  fiercest  passion  could  not  set  her. 
Supernally  as  May  she  has  burst  on 
My  barren  age.     Pain,  envious  decay, 
And  doubt  that  mystery   wounds   us  with,  and 

wrong, 
Flee  from  the  gleam  and  whisper  of  her  name. 

FULVIA  :  And  if  your  coronet  and  heat  avail 
Not  with  her  as  might  charm  of  equal  years 
And  beauty  ? 

CHARLES  :  Then — why  then — why  there  may  slip 
An  avalanche  of  raging  and  despair 
Out  of  me  !     Hope  of  her  once  taken,  all 
The  thwarted  thunders  of  my  want  would  rush 
Into  the  void  with  lightnings  for  revenge ! 
Enter  ANTONIO. 

ANTONIO  :  Sir,  Pm  returned. 
[47] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :    With  lightnings   that    shall — (Sees 

him.)     You  ? 

Antonio  ?     My  eyes  had  other  thought. 
Open  your  news — but  mind  'tis  not  of  failure. 

ANTONIO  :  We  seized  the  murderous  robbers  in 

their  cove 

And  o'er  the  cliff,  as  our  just  law  commands, 
To  death  flung  them. 

CHARLES  :  So  with  all  traitors  be  it. 

ANTONIO  :  So  should  it. 

CHARLES  :  Well,  'twas  swift.     In  you  there  is 
More  than  your  mother's  gentleness. 

ANTONIO  :  Else  were 

My  name  di  Tocca,  sir,  and  not  myself. 

CHARLES  :  You    have    my   love. — But   as    you 

came  met  you 
The  cardinal  ? 

ANTONIO  :          So  close  he  should  by  this 
Be  at  our  gates. 

[48] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  He'll  miss  no  welcome,  and — 

Perhaps — we  shall —    (Smiles  on  them.)    Give  me 
that  cross  you  wear, 

My  Fulvia.      It  may 

ANTONIO  :  Sir,  this  is  good  ! 

We  earnestly  beseech  of  you  to  hear 
The  Pope's  embassador  with  yielding. 

CHARLES  :  Ah  ? — 

But  you,  boy,  draw  out  of  this  solitude 
And  musing  moodiness.     You  should  think  but 
On  silly  sighs  and  kisses,  rhymes  and  trysts  ! 
Must  I  yet  teach  your  coldness  youth  ? 

(A  trumpet,  and  sound  of  opening  gates.) 

Draw  out ! 

ANTONIO  :  I  have  to-day  desired  some  words  of 
this. 

Enter  CECCO. 

CHARLES  :  Well,  who ? 

CECCO  :  The  Cardinal,  your  grace. 

[49] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  Then  go, 

And  bid  our  guests.     Bring  too  Diogenes, 
Our  most  amusing  raveller  of  all 
Philosophies.     Say  that  the  duke,  his  brother, 
Humbly  desires  it !  (CECCO  goes. 

FULVIA  :  And  Helena  ? 

CHARLES  (to  ANTONIO)  :  Why  do 

You  start,  sir  ? — Fulvia,  we  must  look  to 
This  callow  god  our  son.     Yet,  had  our  court 
Two  eyes  of  loveliness  to  drown  his  heart, 
Fd  think  on  oath  "'twere  done. 
(Goes  to  the  throne.) 

FULVIA  (low  to  ANTONIO)  :  Listen.     No  word 
Of  Helena ! 

CHARLES  :  Now  !  is  it  secrets  ? 

FULVIA  :  Sir, 

He  scorns  to  spill  a  drop  of  confidence 
On  my  too  thirsty  questions. 
[50] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  Does  he  so 

Tightly  seal  up  his  spirits  ? 

FULVIA  :  Put  the  rogue 

To  prison  on  stale  bread,  my  lord  :  I  half 
Believe  he^s  full  of  treasons. 

CHARLES  (laughing)  :  Do  you  hear  ! 

Because  you  are  the  son  and  scout  our  foes 

Justice  is  not  impossible  upon  you ! 

The  guests  enter,  among  them  HEMON  and  BAR- 
DAS,  following  the  CARDINAL  JULIAN  and  his 
suite,  and  last  HELENA,  whom  FULVIA  leads 
aside. 

CARDINAL  :  Peace,  worthy  duke  ! 

CHARLES  :  And  more,  lord  Cardinal, 

We  would  to-day  enlarge  our  worthiness 
With  you  and  with  great  Rome. 

CARDINAL  :  Firmly  I  crave 

It  may  be  so. 

[51] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :        Here  unto  all  our  guests 

We  then  do  disavow  our  heresies 

For  faith's  as  air,  as  ease  to  life — and  seek 
At  your  absolving  lips  release  from  our 
Rough  disobedience.     Nor  shall  we  shun 
The  lash  and  needed  weight  of  penitence. 
(A  murmur  of  approval.) 

JULIAN:  These  words,  great  lord,  fall  wise  and 

soothing  well. 

Who  so  confesses,  plants  beneath  his  foot 
A  step  to  scale  all  impotence  and  wrong. 
Our  royal  Pope's  conditions  shall  be  told, 
Pledge  them  consenting  seal  and  you  shall  be 
Briefly  and  fully  free.     (Motions  his  secretary.) 

SECRETARY  (opens  and  reads)  :  "  Whereas  the 

duke 
Di  Tocca  has  offended " 

CARDINAL  :  Pass  the  offence. 

Be  it  oblivion's.     On,  the  penalty. 
[52] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

SECRETARY  :    "  Therefore    the   duke    di    Tocca 

humbling  himself 

Must  pay  into  our  vaults  two  hundred  ducats — " 
CHARLES  :  It  shall  be  three. 
SECRETARY  :  "  And  send  a  hundred  men 

Armed  "gainst  the  foes  that  threaten  Italy." 
CHARLES  :  See  to  it,  yes,  Antonio,  ere  a  dawn. 
SECRETARY  :   "  He  must  also  yield  up  the  prin 
cess  Fulvia 

Who's  fled  her  father's  house  and  rightful  mar 
riage." 
FULVIA  (to  JULIAN)  :  You  told  me  not  of  this 

— no  word,  my  lord  ! 
CARDINAL  :  My  silence  as  my  speech  is  not  my 

own. 
CHARLES  :  We'll  more  of  it — a  measure  more. 

Read  on. 

SECRETARY  :  "  And  for  the  better   amity  and 
weal 

[53] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Of  Italy  and  Christ's  most  Holy  Church, 
He  is  enjoined  to  wed  with  Beatrice 
Of  Florence.     If  his  wilful  boldness  grants 
Obedience,  his  sins  shall  melt  to  rest 

Under  the  calm  of  full  forgiveness.     He " 

CHARLES  :  A  mild,  a   courteous,  O   a    modest 

Pope! 

I  must  tear  from  my  happiness  a  friend 
Who  fled  a  father's  searing  cruelty, 
And  cast  her  back  in  the  flames  !    And  I  must  bind 
My  crippled  years  that  fare  toward  the  grave 
In  the  cold  clasp  of  an  unloving  hand  ! 
No  !     No ! 

Then,  sir,  and  Cardinal,  'tis  not  enough  ! 
I  pray  you  swift  again  to  Rome  and  plead 
Most  suppliantly  that  I  for  penance  may 
Swear  my  true  son  is  shame-begot,  or  lend 
My  kin  to  drink  clean  of  its  fouling  damp 
Some  pestilent  prison  !     And  'tis  impious  too 
[54] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

That  any  still  should  trust  my  love.     Beseech 
His  Holiness1  command  for  death  upon  them  ! 
CARDINAL  :  This  is  your  answer  ? 
CHARLES  (rinses)  :  A  mite  !  a  mite  of  it ! 

The  rest  is  I  will  wed  where  I  will  wed 
Though  every  hill  of  earth  raise  up  its  pope 
To  bellow  at  me  thunderous  damnation ! 
I  will — I  will —     (Falls  back  convulsed.) 

FULVIA  (hastening  to  him)  :  Charles,  ah  !    Wine 

for  him,  wine  !     (It  is  brought.) 
ANTONIO  :  Lord  Cardinal,  spare  yourself  more 

and  go. 

You  shall  learn  if  a  change  may  loose  this  strain. 
(The  CARDINAL  goes  with  his  suite  amid 

timid  reverence.) 
CHARLES  (struggling)  :  I  will — this  frenzy — off 

my  throat — !     I —     (Recovering.)    Ah, 
Thou,  Fulvia  ?     'Twas  as  a  fiend  swung  on  me. 
And  shame !  fear  oozes  out  upon  my  brow, 
[55] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

And  I .     (Rises  and  calms  himself.)    Forgive, 

friends,  this  so  sudden  wrench 
Upon  your  pleasure.     One  too  quick  made  saint, 
Stands  feebly  :  but  at  once  will  I  atone. 
Where  is  Diogenes — where  is  he  ?     His 
Tangled  fantastic  wisdom  shall  divert  us. 

(DIOGENES,  who  has  stood  unconscious  of  all 

that  has  passed,  is  pushed  forward.) 
Ah,  peer  of  Socrates  and  perfect  Plato, 
Leave  your  unseeing  silence  now  and  tell  us 

Enter  AGABUS  gazing  anxiously  and  wildly  before 

him. 
Who's  this  ? 

AGABUS  (hoarsely) :  Where  went  he — the  Shadow  ? 

— whither  ? 
CHARLES  :  Who's  this  broke  from  his  grave  upon 

us  ? 

AGABUS  (searching  still)  :  Where  ? 

I  followed  him — he  sped  and  there  was  cold ! 
[56] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Behind  him  blows  a  horror ! 

(Stops  in  fascinated  awe  before  HELENA.) 
Ah,  on  her  head  ! 

His  touch  !  his  earthless  finger ! — and  she  rots 
To  dust !  to  dust ! 

ANTONIO  :  111  monk  !  are  there  no  men 

That  you  must  wring  a  woman  so  with  fear  ? 
AGABUS  :  Ha,  men  ?    Christ  save  all  men  but 

lovers !  all !  (Crosses  himself.) 
CHARLES  :  Antonio,  how  speaks  he  ? 
ANTONIO  :  Sir,  most  mad 

With  the  pestilence  of  evil  prophecy. 
(To  guards.)  Forth  with  him ! 

CHARLES  :  Stay. 

ANTONIO  :  Let  him  not,  for  he  will 

Beguile  you  to  some  ravening  belief. 

AGABUS  (going  up  to  CHARLES,  staring  at  him 
in    suppressed    excitement)  :    A   lover !     a 
lover !  and  he  loves  in  vain ! 
[57] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Wilt  go  ?     There  is  a  cave — (taking  his  hand), 

well  curse  her — come ! 
CHARLES:  Out!  out!     (Throws  him  from   the 

dais.) 
AGABUS  :   Christ  save  all  men  but —     (Seeking 

vacantly.)     Ah,  the  Shadow ! 
Has   no   one   seen    him  ?    none  ? — the   Shadow  ? 
none  ? 

(Goes  dazed.     Guests  whisper,  awed. 

CHARLES  :  He  is  obsessed — vile  utterly ! 

A  GUEST  :  O  duke, 

I  pray,  good-night. 

ANOTHER  :  And  I,  my  lord. 

ANOTHER  :  And  I 

ANOTHER  :  And 

CHARLES  :  Friends,  you   shall  not — no.     This 

pall  will  pass, 
My  hospitality  is  up,  you  shall  not ! 

ANOTHER  :  Pardon,  O  duke,  we 

[68] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  Though  some  grudging  wind 

Blows  us  away  from  mirth,  'tis  still  in  view, 
We've  lute  and  dance  that  yet  shall  bring  us  in. 

IST  LADY  :  O,  dance ! 

CHARLES  :          Cecco,  our  Circes  from  the  Nile. 

(CECCO  goes. 

%D  LADY  :  The  Nile !     Ah,  Cleopatra's  Nile  ? 

CHARLES  :  Her  own  ; 

And  sinuous  as  Nile  water  is  their  grace. 

Enter  two  Egyptian  girls,  who  dance,  then  go. 

GUESTS  (applauding)  :  Bravely ! — O,  brave ! 

CHARLES  :  Do  they  not  whirl  it  lithe  ? 

With  limbs  like  swallow  wings  upon  the  blue  ? 

IST  LADY  :  'Twas  witchery ! 

So  LADY  :  Such  eyes !  such  hair ! 

%D  LADY  :  And  thus, 

Did  Cleopatra  thus  steal  Antony  ? 
Wrap  him  about  with  motion  that  would  seize 
[59] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

His  senses  to  an  ecstasy  ?     O,  oh, 
To  dance  so ! 

CHARLES  :       And  so  steal  an  Antony  ? 
We'll  frame  a  law  on  thieving  of  men's  heart's ! 
%D  LADY  :  Then,  vainly !  'tis  a  theft  men  like 

the  most. 
CHARLES  :  When  in  its  stead  the  thief  has  left 

her  own — 
But    shall    we    woo    no    boon    of    mirth    save 

dance  ? 
A  lute !  a  lute !    (One  is  gone  for.)    Some  new  lay, 

Haemon,  come! 

And  every  word  must  dip  its  syllables 
In  Pindar's  spring  to  trip  so  lightly  forth. 
H.EMON  :  I  have  no  lay. 
CHARLES  :  The  lute !     (//  is  offered  H^MON.) 

Sing  us  of  love 

That  builds  a  Paradise  of  kisses,  thinks 
The  Infinite  bound  up  in  an  embrace. 
[60] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Whose  sighs  seem  to  it  hurricanes  of  pain, 
Whose  tears  as  seas  of  molten  misery. 

HEMON  :   I  have  none — cannot. 

CHARLES  :  Now  will  you  fright  off 

Again  our  timid  cheer  ? 

HEMON  :  While  she,  my  sister — ! 

(The  lute  is  offered  again.) 
I  cannot,  will  not! 

CHARLES  :               Will  not  ?  will  not  ?     Look  ! 
I  had  an  honor  pluckt  to  laurel  it, 
A  wreath  of  noble  worth,  a  thing  to  tell 

HEMON  :  Honor  upon  dishonor  sits  not  well. 

CHARLES  (not  hearing)  :  Heat  me  not  with  de 
nial.     Is  new  bliss 

Raised  from  the  dead  in  me  but  to  fall  back 
As  stone  ere  it  has  breathed  ?    Have  I  so  frequent 
Drained   you  ?     Be   slow  to    tempt  me — In   me 

moves 

Peril  that  has  a  passion  to  leap  forth ! 
[61] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

:  Antonio,  speak  !     Where's  innocence 
and  where 
Begins  deceit  ? 

FULVIA  (to  HEMON  aside) :  Ask  it  not,  or  you  step 
On  waiting  hazard  and  calamity. 

CHARLES  :  New  fret  ?  and  new  confusion  ?     In 

the  blind 

Power  and  passing  of  this  night  is  there 
Conspiracy  ? — plot  of  some  here  ?  or  of 
That  One  whose  necromancy  wields  the  world  ? 
I  care  not ! — I  care  not !     We  must  have  mirth ! 
Have  mirth !   though  it  be  laughter  at  damned 

souls. 
H,CMON  :  And  I  must  wake  it  ?    I  with  laugh 

and  lay, 
Doting  upon  dishonor  ? 

CHARLES  :  What  means  he  ? 

H,EMON  :  Give  me  again  my  sister  from  these 
walls, 

[62] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Since  might  is  yours,  strip  from  me  wealth  and  life 
And  more,  and  all — but  let  her  not,  no,  no, 
Meet  here  the  touch  and  leprosy  of  shame ! 

CHARLES  (laughing)  :  Said  I  not,  said  I,  friends, 

we  should  have  mirth  ? 

You  shall  laugh  with  me  laughter  bright  as  wine. 
ANTONIO  :  But,  sir,  this  is  not  good  for  laugh 
ter!     Sir! 
HEMON  (to  ANTONIO)  :  Ah,  put  the  lamb  on — 

bleat  mock  sympathy ! 
CHARLES  (still  laughing)  :  Fulvia,  O,  he  foots  it 

in  the  tracks 

Of  your  own  fear !  and  wanders  to  delusion ! 
HEMON  :  Will  you  laugh  at  me,  fiend ! 
CHARLES  :  Boy ! 

HEMON:  Had  I  but 

Omnipotence  a  moment  and  could  dash 
Annihilation  on  you  and  your  race ! 

(Throws  his  glove  in  ANTONIO'S  face.) 
[63] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

HELENA  :  Haemon ! 
FULVIA  (restraining  her)  :  No,  Helena. 
CHARLES  :  Omnipotence  ? 

And  could  Omnipotence  make  such  a  fool  ? 
There  must  be  two  Gods  in  the  world  to  do  it. 

•   H^MON  :  She  shall  not ! 

(Attempts  to  kill  HELENA.) 
ANTONIO  (preventing)  :  Fury ! — Ah !  what  would 

you  do  ? 
CHARLES  :  Such  things  can  be  ?     A  sister,  yet 

he  strikes  ?     (H^MON  is  seized.) 
HELENA  :  O  let  me  speak  with  him,  sir,  let  me 

speak  ! 
CHARLES  :  Not  now,  girl,  no,  not  now — lest  in 

his  breath 
Be  venom  for  thee!     (To  soldiers.)     Shut  him 

from  our  gates 
Till  he  repent  this  fever. 

(HEMON  goes  quietly  out.) 
[64] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

(To  guests  who  are  suspicious  and  unde 
termined.)      If  you  stare  so 
Will  the  skies  stop !      Have  I  not  arm  in  arm 
Friended  this  youth  and  meant  him  honor  still  ? 
Leave  me.      I  had  a  thing  to  tell ;  but  it 
Must  wait  more  seasonable  festivity. 
(To  PAULA.)     See  to  thy  mistress,  child.     Anto 
nio,  stay. 

(All  go  but  ANTONIO  and  CHARLES,  who 
leaves  his  chair  slowly  and  with  dejection.) 

ANTONIO  :  Father 

CHARLES  (unheeding)  :  Did  I  not  humble  me? 

ANTONIO  :  Father ? 

CHARLES  :  Or  ask  more  than  a  brevity  of  joy 
To  bud  on  my  life's  withering  close  ? 

ANTONIO  :  But,  sir ! 

CHARLES  :  If  it  bud  not ! 

ANTONIO  :        What  thought  impels  and  wrings 
These  angers  from  your  eyes  ? 
[65] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  (slowly,  gazing  at  him)  :  You're  like 
your  mother. 

ANTONIO  :  In  trouble  for  your  peace,  more  than 
in  feature. 

CHARLES  :  Peace — peace  ?     Antonio,  a   dream 

has  come : 

To  stir — to  wake — to  learn  it  is  a  dream — 
I  must  not,  will  not  look  on  such  abyss. 
You  love  me,  boy? 

ANTONIO  :  Sir,  well :  you  cannot  doubt  it. 

CHARLES  :  There  has  been  darkness  in  me — 

and  it  seems 

Such  night  as  would  put  out  a  heaven  of  hope, 
Quench  an  eternity  of  flaming  joy ! 
I  have  sunk  down  under  the  world  and  hit 
On  nethermost  despair  :  flown  blind  across 
An  infinite  unrest ! 

ANTONIO  :  Forget  it,  now. 

[66] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :     Had    I  drunk   Lethe's   all   'twould 

not  have  stilled 

The  crying  of  my  desolation's  want. 
Within  me  tenderness  to  iron  turned, 
Gladness  to  worm  and  gloom. — But  'tis  o'erpast. 
A  rift,  a  smile,  a  breath  has  come — blown  me 
From  torture  to  an  ecstasy. 

ANTONIO  :  To ? 

CHARLES  :  Ecstasy ! 

Such  as  surrounds  Hyperion  on  his  sun, 
Or  Pleiads  sweeping  seven-fold  the  night. 

ANTONIO  :  And  you — this  breath ? 

CHARLES  :  Is — you  are  pale ! 

And  press  your  lips  from  trembling ! 

ANTONIO  :  No — yes — well — 

This  ecstasy  ? 

CHARLES  :         Is  love !  is  love  that —     How  ? 
You  feign !  distress  and  groaning  tear  in  you ! 

ANTONIO  :   No.     She  you  love 

[67] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  O,  Eve  new-burst  on  Eden, 

All  pure  with  the  prime  beauty  of  God's  breath, 
Was  not  so ! 

ANTONIO  :     She  is  Helena  ? — the  Greek  ? 

CHARLES  :  She — Still  you   do   not   ail  ? — Yes, 

Helena, 

Who — But  you  are  not  well  and  cannot  share 
This  ravishment ! — I  will  not  ask  it — now. 
This  ravishment! — Ah,  she  has  stayed  the  tread 
And  stilled  the  whispering  of  death  :  has  called 
Echoes  of  youth  from  me  !  and  all  I  feared.  .  .  . 
I  think — you  are  not  well.     Shall  we  go  in  ? 

CURTAIN. 


[68] 


ACT   THREE 

Scene. — The  gardens  of  the  castle.  Paths  meet 
under  a  large  lime  in  the  centre,  where  seats 
are  placed.  The  wall  of  the  garden  crosses 
the  rear,  and  has  a  postern.  It  is  night  of 
the  same  day,  and  behind  a  convent  on  a  near 
hill  the  moon  is  rising.  A  nightingale  sings. 

Enter  GIULIA,  CECCO,  and  NALDO. 
GIULIA  :  That  bird !      Always  so  noisy,  always 

vain 

Of  gushing.     Sing,  and  sing,  sing,  sing,  it  must ! 
As  if  nobody  else  would  speak  or  sleep. 

CECCO  :  Let  the  bird  be,  my  jaunty.    ?Tis  no  lie 
The  shrew  and  nightingale  were  never  friends. 
GIULIA  :    No  more  were  shrew  and  serpent. 
CECCO  :  Well  what  would 

You  scratch  from  me  ? 

[69] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

GIULIA  :  If  there  is  anything 

To  be  got  from  you,  then  it  must  be  scratched. 

CECCO  :  Yet  shrews  do  not  scratch  serpents. 

GIULIA  :  If  they're  caught 

Where  they  can  neither  coil  nor  strike  ? 

CECCO  :  Well,  / 

Begin  to  coil. 

GIULIA  :  And  I'll  begin  to  scotch 

You  ere  'tis  done. — Give  me  the  postern  key. 

CECCO:  Your  lady's   voice — but  you  are   not 
your  lady. 

GIULIA  :  And  were  I  you  not  long  would  be 

your  lord's. 
Give  me  the  key. 

CECCO  :  I  coil — I  coil !  will  soon 

Be  ready  for  a  strike,  my  tender  shrew. 

GIULIA  :  Does  the    duke   know  you've  hidden 
from  his  ear 

[70] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Antonio's  passion  ?  does  he  ? — ah  ? — and  shall 
I  tell  him  ?  ah  ? 

CECCO  :  You  heard  then 

GIULIA  :  He  likes  well 

What's  kept  so  thriftily. 

CECCO  (scowling)  :  You  want  the  key 

To  let  in  Boro  to  chuck  your  baby  face 
And  moon  with  you!     He's  been   discharged — 

take  care. 
GIULIA  :  The  duke  might  learn,  too,  you're  not 

clear  between 
His  ducats  and  your  own. 

CECCO  :  There  then  (gives  Tcey\  but 

GIULIA  (as  he  goes)  :  Oh  ? 

And  shrews  do  not  scratch  serpents  ?    You  may  spy, 
But  others  are  not  witless,  I  can  tell  you ! 

(CECCO  goes. 

Now,  Naldo  (gives  him  key  and  writmg\  do  not 
lose  the  writing.     But 
[71] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Should  you,  he  must  not  come  till  two.     For  'tis 
At  twelve  the  Greek  will  meet  Antonio. 

(NALDO  goes,  through  the  postern:  GIULIA 
to  the  castle. 

Enter  HELENA  and  PAULA  from  another  part  of 
the  gardens. 

HELENA  :  At  twelve,  said  he,  at  twelve,  beside 

the  arbor  ? 
PAULA  :  Yes,  mistress. 

HELENA  :  I  were  patient  if  the  moon 

Would  slip  less  sadly  up.     She  is  so  pale — 
With  longing  for  Endyrnion  her  lover. 

PAULA  :   Has   she  a  lover?     Oh,  how  strange. 

Is  it 

So  sweet  to  love,  my  lady  ?     I  have  heard 
Men  die  and  women  for  it  weep  themselves 
Into  the  grave — yet  gladly. 

HELENA  :  Sweet  ?     Ah,  yes, 

[72] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

To  terror !  for  the  edge  of  fate  cares  not 
How  quick  it  severs. 

PAULA  :  On  my  simple  hills 

They  told  of  one  who  slew  herself  on  her 
Dead  lover's  breast.  Would  you  do  so  ? 
Would  you,  my  lady  ? 

HELENA  :  There's  no  twain  in  love. 

My  heart  is  in  my  lord  Antonio's 
To  beat,  Paula,  or  cease  with  it. 

PAULA  :  But  died 

He  far  away  ? 

HELENA  :     Far  sunders  flesh  not  souls. 
Across  all  lands  the  hush  of  death  on  him 
Would  sound  to  me ;  and,  did  he  live,  denial, 
Though  every  voice  and  silence  spoke  it,  could 
Not  reach  my  rest ! — But  he  is  near. 

PAULA  :  O  no, 

Not  yet,  my  lady. 

HELENA  :  Then  some  weariness 

[73] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Has   pluckt  the  minutes'   wings  and  they  have 

crept. 
PAULA  :  But  'tis  not  twelve,  else  would  we  hear 

the  band 

Of  holy  Basil  from  their  convent  peace 
Dreamily  chant. 

HELENA  :  Nay,  hearts  may  hear  beyond 

The  hark  of  ears !     Listen !  to  me  his  step 
Thrills  thro'  the  earth. 

(ANTONIO  approaches  and  enters  the  postern.) 
'Tis  he !     Go  Paula,  go  : 
But  sleep  not. 

(PAULA  hastens  out.) 
(Going  to  him.)  My  Antonio,  I  breathe, 
Now  no  betiding  fell  athwart  thy  path 
To  stay  thee  from  me ! 

ANTONIO  :  Stronger  than  all  betiding 

This  hour  has  reached  and  drawn  me  yearning  to 
thee !     (Takes  her  in  his  arms.) 

[74] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

HELENA  :  And  may  all  hours ! 

ANTONIO  :  All !  tho'  we  two  will  still 

Be  more  than  destiny — which  cannot  grasp 
Beyond  the  grave. 

HELENA  :  TIS  sadly  put,  my  lord. 

ANTONIO  :  Ah,  sadly,  loathly ;  but,  my  Helena — 

HELENA  :  I  would  not  sink  from  it,  the  simple 

sun — 

Fade  to  a  tomb !     What  dirging  hast  thou  heard 
To  mind  thee  of  it  ? 

ANTONIO  :                  Love  is  a  bliss  too  bright 
To  rest  on  earth.     With  it  God  should  give  us 
Ever  to  soar  above  mortality. 
But  you  must  know ! 

HELENA  :  Not  yet,  tell  me  not  yet ! 

Dimly  I  see  the  burden  in  your  eyes, 
But  dare  not  take  it  yet  into  my  own. 
Let  us  a  little  look  upon  the  moon, 
Forgetting.     (They  seat  themselves.) 
[75] 


CHARLES   DI   TOCCA 

ANTONIO  (musingly)  :  These  hands — this  hair — . 
(Caressing  them.) 

HELENA  :  Like  a  farewell 

Your  touch  falls  on  them. 

ANTONIO  (moved)  :         To  a  father  yield  them  ? 

HELENA  :  Antonio  ? 

ANTONIO  (still  caressing)  :  No,  no !  It  cannot  be ! 

HELENA  :  This  dread — and  shrinking — let  me 

have  it ! — speak ! 
You  mean — look  on  me ! — mean,  your  father  ? — 

ANTONIO  :  Ah ! 

It  must  not!    must  not! 

HELENA  :  Do  you  mean — he — No ! 

Let  him  not  touch  me  even  in  thy  thought, 
To  me  come  nearer  than  a  father  may ! 

ANTONIO  :  He's  swept  by  the  sweet  contagion 

of  you,  wrapt 

In  a  fierce  spell  by  your  effulgent  youth. 
[76] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

HELENA  :  Say,   say    it   not!     To    him    I    but 

smiled  up — 
But  smiled  ! 

ANTONIO  :  He  knew  not  that  such  smiles  could 

dawn 
In    a   bare    world.     And    now    is    flame ;   would 

take 

Your  tenderness  into  his  arms  and  hear 
Seized  to  him  the  warm  music  of  your  heart. 
O,  I  could  be  for  him — he  is  my  father — 
Prometheus  stormed  and  gnawed  on  Caucasus, 
Tantalus  ever  near  the  slipping  wave, 
Or  torn  and  tossed  to  burning  martyrdom — 
But  not — not  this  ! 

HELENA  :  Then,  flight !     In  it  we  may 

Find  haven  and  new  nurture  for  our  bliss. 

ANTONIO  :  Snap  from  his  hunger  this  one  hope, 
so  he 

[77] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Must   starve  ?     Push  him   who   has   but  learned 

there's  light 
Back  into  yawning  blindness  ?     Ah,  not  flight ! 

HELENA  :  I  know  he  is  your  father,  and  my  days 
Have  been  all  fatherless,  tho'  I  have  made 
Me  child  to  every  wind  that  had  caress 
And  to  each  lonely  tree  of  the  deep  wood — 
Oft  envious  of  those  who  touch  gray  hairs, 
Or  spend  desire  on  filial  grief  and  pang. 
And  most  have  you  a  softness  in  him  kept, 
Been  to  him  more  than  empire's  tyranny — 
But  baffled  none  can  measure  him  nor  trust ! 

ANTONIO  :  Yet  must  we  wait. 

HELENA  :  When  waiting  shall  but  goad 

The  speed  of  peril  ? 

ANTONIO  :  Still :  and  strain  to  win 

Him  from  this  brink. — If  vainly,  then  birth,  pity, 
And  memory  shall  fall  from  me ! — all,  all, 
But  fierceness  for  thy  peace  ! 
[78] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

HELENA  :  My  Antony  ! 

ANTONIO  :  And  fierceness  without  falter  ! 

HELENA  :  I  am  thine, 

Thine  more  than  immortality  is  God's ! 
Hear,  does  the  nightingale  not  tell  it  thee  ? 
The  stars  do  they  not  tremble  it,  the  moon 
Murmur  it  argently  into  thine  eyes  ? 

ANTONIO:  Ah,  sorceress  !  You  need  but  breathe 

to  put 

Abysm  from  us ;  but  build  words  to  float  us 
On  infinite  ecstasy.     (Kisses  her.) 

HELENA  :  How,  how  thy  kisses 

Sing  in  me ! 

ANTONIO  :     From  my  heart  they  do  but  send 
Echoes  born  of  thy  beauty  mid  its  strings  ! 

HELENA  :  Then  would  I  lean  forever  at  thy  lips, 
Lose  no  reverberance,  no  ring,  no  waft, 
Hear  nothing  everlastingly  but  them  ! 

(A  mournful  chant  is  borne  from  the  Con 
vent.      Tliey  slowly  unclasp,  awed.) 

[79] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

ANTONIO  :  Weary  with  vigil  does  it  swell  and 

sink, 
Moaning  the  dead. 

HELENA  :  Ah,  no  !     There  are  no  dead 

To-night    in    all    the    world.       Could    God    see 

them 

Lie  cold  and  wondrous  still,  while  we  are  rich 
In  warmth  and  throb  ! 

ANTONIO  :  Yet,  hear.     The  funeral  tread 

Of  the  old  sea  sighs  in  each  strain,  and  breaks. 
HELENA  :  As  I  were  drowned  and  heard  it  over 

me, 
It  cometh — cometh  ! 

(Her  head   droops  back  on  his  arm.     A 

pause.) 
ANTONIO   (touching  her  face)  :    Cold  !    cold  ! — 

your  lips — your  brow  ! 
And  you  are  pale  as  with  a  prophecy  ! 
HELENA  :  Oh — oh  ! 

[80] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

ANTONIO  :  Your  spirit  is  not  in  you  but 

Afar  and  suffering ! 

HELENA  :  A  vision  sweeps  me. 

ANTONIO  :  Awake  from  it ! 

HELENA  (recovering)  :  A  waste  of  waves  that 

beat 

Upon  a  cliff — and  beat !     Yet  thou  and  I 
Had  place  in  it. 

ANTONIO  :  Come  to  yon  arbour,  come. 

The  moon  has  looked  too  long  on  the  sad  earth, 
And  can  reflect  but  sorrow. 

HELENA  :  Ah,  I  fear ! 

(They  go  clinging  passionately  together. 

Enter  CHARLES  and  CECCO. 
CHARLES  :  And  yet  it  is  a  little  thing  to  sleep — 
Just  to  lie  down  and  sleep.     A  child  may  do  it. 
CECCO  :  If  my  lord  would,  here's  sleep  for  him 

wrapped  in 
A  quiet  powder. 

[81] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  Sleep  is  ever  mate 

Of  peace  and  should  go  with  it.     I  have  slept 
In  the  wild  arms  of  battle  when  the  winds 
Of  souls  departing  fearfully  shook  by, 
And  on  the  breast  of  dizzy  danger  cradled 
Softly  been  lulled.     Potions  should  be  for  them 
Who  wrestle  and  are  thrown  by  misery. 

CECCO  :  And  is  my  lord  at  peace? 

CHARLES  :  Strangely. — Yet  seem 

For  sleep  too  coldly  calm. 

CECCO  :  So  were  you,  sir — 

I  keep  your  words  lest  you  may  need  of  them — 
On  the  same  night  young  Haemon's  father  went 
The  secret  way  to  death. 

CHARLES  :  Of  that ! — of  that  ? — 

CECCO  :  Pardon,  I  but 

CHARLES  :  Smirker  ! — Yet,  was  it  so  ? 

That  night  indeed  ? 

CECCO  :  Sir,  surely. 

[82] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  And  the  moon's 

'Scutcheon  hung  stainless  up  the  purple  east  ? 

CECCO  :  Half,  sir  ;  even  as  now. 

CHARLES  (as  to  himself)  :  Since  that  hour's  close 
To  this  I  have  not  stood  in  so  much  calm. 
Still  was  he  not  in  every  vein  of  him, 
And  breath,  a  traitor  ?     A  Greek  who — 111  not 

say  it, 

Since  she  is  Greek  I  must  forget  the  word 
Sounds  the  diapason  of  perfidy. 

CECCO  :  My  lord  thinks  of  the  gentle  Helena  ? 

CHARLES  :  And  if  I  do  ? 

CECCO  :  Why,  sir 

CHARLES  :  Well  ? 

CECCO  :  Nothing  :  but 

CHARLES  :  Subtle !     your    nothing     harboreth 

some  theft 
Of  spial. 

CECCO  :         Sir,  I — no — that  is 

[83] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  That  is 

It  does  !      Must  I — persuade  it  from  your  throat  ? 
(Makes  to  choke  him.) 

CECCO  :  It  was  of  lord  Antonio 

CHARLES  :  Speak  then. 

CECCO  :  Have  you  not  marked  him  sundry  of 

his  moods  ? 
CHARLES:  Well? 
CECCO:  On    his   back   in    the  wood  as  if  the 

leaves 

Sung  fairy  balladry  ;  then  riding  wild 
Nowhither  and  alone  ;  about  the  castle 
Yearning,  yet  absent  to  soft  speech  and  arms  ! 
He'll  drink,  sir,  and  not  know  if  it  be  wine  ! 
CHARLES  :  So  is  he !    but  to-day  he  bold  un 

sheathed 
His  skill  and  bravery. 

CECCO  :  And  did  not  crave 

A  boon  of  you  ? 

[84] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :            None.     But  you  put  not  ill 
My  thought  to  it.     His  aspiration  flags 

CECCO  :  Ah,  flags. 

CHARLES  :      New  wings  it  needs  and  buoyancy. 
My  trust  in  him  is  ripe :  the  fruit  of  it, 
He  shall  be  lord  of  Arta — total  lord. 

CECCO  :  He  begged  no  softer  boon  ? 

CHARLES  :  Cunning  !     again  ? 

Sleek  questions  of  a  sleeker  consequence  ? 

CECCO  :  It  was,  sir,  only  of  Antonio. 

CHARLES  :  Worm,  you  began  so.     Stretch  now 

to  the  end, 
Or — will  you  ? 

CECCO  :         I  would  say — would  ask — and  hope 
There  is  no  thorny  hint  in  it  to  vex  you, 
To  prick  your  humor — may  not  he  be  sick, 
Amorous,  mellow  sick  upon  some  maid  ? 

CHARLES  :  Have  you  so  labored  to  this  atom's 
birth  ? 

[85] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Is  a  boy's  passion  so  new  under  the  moon 
You  gape  at  it  ? 

CECCO  :  But  if,  sir 

CHARLES  :  I  had  thought 

Would  start  up  in  your  words  some  Titan  woe, 
No  human  catapult  could  war  upon  ! 
Some  dread  colossal  doom,  frenzied  to  fall ! 
Were  it  he's  traitor  gnawing  at  my  throne, 
Or  ready  with  some  potent  cruelty 
To  blight  this  tenderness  new-sprung  in  me — 
I  would — even  have  listened  ! 

(Noise  is  heard  at  the  postern.  It  is  un 
locked.  H^MON  enters,  and  stops  in 
consternation.) 

CHARLES  :  Keys  ?     To— this  ? 

H^MON  :  1 — have  excuse. 

CHARLES  :  Perchance  also  you  have 

Them  to  my  gems  and  secrecies  ?     Shall  I 
Not  show  their  hiding  ? — rubies,  and  fair  gold  ? 
[86] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

H.EMON  :  Mistake  me  not,  my  lord. 

CHARLES  :  I  could  not :  you 

Have  come  at  midnight — a  most  honest  hour. 
Enter  this  postern — a  most  honest  way, 
And  seem  most  honest — Why,  I  could  not,  sir ! 

H.EMON  :  You  wrong  me,  and  have   wronged 

me.     I  but  come 
To  loose  my  sister. 

CHARLES  :  As  to-day  you  would 

Have  loosed  her  with  a  piercing — into  death  ? 

H.EMON  :  Rather,  could  I !  Antonio — yet  neither. 
Since  you,  not  he,  are  here,  my  passion  melts 
Into  a  plea.     Humbly  as  manhood  may — 

CHARLES  :  This  fever  still  ? 

H^MON  :  This  fever  !     Must  I  be 

As  ice  while  soiling  flames  leap  out  at  her  ? 
And  passionless — as  one  cold  in  a  trance  ? 
Rigid  while  she  in  stealth  is  drugged  to  shame  ? 
Be  voiceless  and  be  vain,  unstung,  and  still? 
[87] 


CHARLES  DI  TOCCA 

I  must  wait  softly  while  her  innocence 
Is  drained  as  virgin  freshness  from  the  morn  ? — 
Though  he  were  twice  Antonio  and  your  son, 
An  emperor  and  a  god,  I  would  not ! 

CHARLES  :  Ever, 

And  ever  bent  upon  Antonio  ? 
Be  not  a  torrent,  boy,  of  rush  and  foam. 
Be  not,  of  roar  ! — Yet — look  :  Antonio  ? 
You  said  Antonio  ? 

HEMON  :  Yes. 

CHARLES  (troubled)  :  You  did  ill 

To  say  it !     He's  my  son. 

HEMON  :  I  care  not. 

CHARLES  :  Have 

You  cause — a  ground — some  reason  ?    Men  should 

when 
Suspicions  curve  their  lips. 

H.EMON  :  Cause !  reason  ! 

CHARLES  :  No : 

[88] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

He  is  my  son.     His  flesh  has  memories 
That  would  cry  out  and  curdle  him  to  madness, 
Palsy  and  strangle  every  pregnant  wish, 
Or  bring  in  him  compassion  like  a  flood. 

H.EMON  (contemptuous)  :  O ? 

CHARLES  :  Never  ! — Yet,  a  lurking  at  my  brain ! 
Enter  PAULA,  hurriedly. 

PAULA  :  My  lord  Antonio  !  my  lady  !     (Seeing 
CHARLES.)     O ! 

CHARLES  (strangely)  :  Come  here. 

PAULA  :  O,  sir  ! 

CHARLES  (taking  her  wrist) :  Were  you  not  in  a 
haste  ? 

PAULA  :       I — I — I  do  not  know. 

CHARLES  :  Girl ! — Why  do  you 

Drop  fearful  to  your  knees  ? 

PAULA  :  'Tis  late,  sir,  late, 

Let  me  go  in  ! 

CHARLES  :          You  have  a  mistress  who 
[89] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Keeps  quick  temptation  in  her  eyes  and  hair. 
A  shy  mole  too  lies  pillowed  on  her  cheek — 
Does  she  rest  well  ? 

PAULA  :  My  lord 

CHARLES  :  Ah,  you  would  say 

She  sometimes  walks  asleep  :  and  you  have  come 
To  fetch  her  ? 

PAULA  :  Loose  me,  sir  ! 

CHARLES  :  Or  she  has  left 

Her  kerchief  in  some  nook  :  you  seek  it  ? 

PAULA  :  O, 

Your  eyes  !  your  eyes  ! 

CHARLES  :  I  have  a  son  :  are  his 

Not  like  them  ? 

PAULA  :  My  wrist,  sir  ! 

CHARLES  :  It  was  night,  then — night  ? 

You  could  not  see  him  clearly  ? 

PAULA  :  Mercy  ! 

CHARLES  (looking  about)  :  Yet 

[90] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Perchance  he  too  walks  in  his  sleep.     Were  it 
Quite  well  if  they  have  met — these  two  that  walk  ? 

PAULA  :  My  lady,  my  sweet  lady  ! 

CHARLES  (releasing  her)  :  Go,  for  she 

Still  wonderful  may  lie  upon  her  couch, 
One  arm  dropt  whitely.     If  you  prayed  for  her — 
If  you  should  pray  for  her — Something  may  chance: 
There  is  so  much  may  chance — we  cannot  know ! 

(PAULA  goes. 
(Disturbed.)  This  child  who  hath  but  dwelt  about 

her,  touched 

And  coiled  the  mystery  of  her  hair,  has  might 
Almost  too  much  ! 

H.EMON  :            You  cloud  me  with  these  words. 
Were  they  Antonio's 

CHARLES  :  If  I  but  think 

"  Helena  "  must  you  link  "  Antonio  "  to  it ! 
Can  they  not  be,  yet  be  apart  ?     Will  winds 
Not  bear  them,  and  not  sound  them  separate  ! 
[91] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

If  angels  cry  one  at  the  stars  will  they 
But  echo  back  the  other  ? — This  is  froth — 
The  froth  and  fume  of  folly.     You  are  thick 
In  falsity,  and  in  disquietude. 
Another  rapture  rules  Antonio's  eye, 
Not  Helena. 

H^MON  :         You  know  it — yet  have  led 
Her  to  his  arms  ? 

CHARLES  :         His  arms  !     Ah,  mole  to  burrow 
Thus  under  blind  and  muddy  misbelief! 
To  mine  is  she  come  here.    (Terribly.)     Were  he 

a  seraph, 

And  did  from  Paradise  desire  to  fold  her — 
No  mercy  ! — But,  I  will  speak  as  a  child, 
As  he  who  woke  with  Ruth  fair  at  his  feet ; 
Long  have  I  gleaned  amid  the  years  and  lone. 
She  shall  glean  softly  now  beside  me — softly, 
Till  sunset  fail  in  me  and  I  am  night. 

HEMON  :  This  is  a  gin,  a  net,  and  I  am  fast ! 
[92] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  A  net  to  snare  what  never  has  been 

free  ? 
H.EMON  :  Still  must  it  be  this  tenderness  lives 

false 
Upon  your  lips. 

CHARLES  :  "  Must,"     say    you,     "  must,"     yet 

stand 

H.EMON  :  Then  shall  he  rest — lie  easy  down  and 

rest 
In  treachery  ? 

CHARLES  :  He ? 

H,EMON  :  Yes. 

CHARLES  :  You  mean ? 

H.EMON  :  Yes  ! — yes  ! 

CHARLES  :  Antonio  ? 
H.EMON  :  Is  it  not  open  ? 

CHARLES  (confusedly) :  No  : 

Glooms  start  around  me,  glooms  that  seethe  and 
cling. 

[93] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

HEMON  :  This  maid  who  called,  did  she  come 

idly  here  ? 
You  stir  ?  you  rouse  ? 

CHARLES  :  A  coldness  runs  in  me. 

HEMON  :  And  have  not  I  come  strangely  on 
the  hour ! 

CHARLES  :  It  'gins  to  burn  ! 

HEMON  :  Not  entered  a  strange  way  ? 

CHARLES  :  You  pause  and  ever  pause  upon  my 

patience. 
'Twill  heave  unbearably ! 

HEMON  :  Then  hear  me,  hear  ! — 

Senseless  against  a  bank  I  found  a  boy, 
Hurled  by  some  ruthless  hoof.     Near  him  this  key 
And  writing 

CHARLES  :  Tell  it ! 

H^MON  :  That  avows,  mid  lines 

Clandestine  of  purport,  Antonio 

And  Helena,  under  these  shades  at  twelve 

[94] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES:  You  bring  on  me  a  furious  desola 
tion. 
But  Fulvia,  ah,  she 

H.EMON  :  Not  there  is  trust ! 

She  is  aware  and  aids  in  his  deceit. 
This  writing  says  it  of  her. 

CHARLES  :  Fulvia  ?     No  ! 

No,  no ! — Though  she  had  sudden  whispers  for 

him  ! 

A  lie  ! — Yet  fast  belief  fixes  its  fangs 
On  me  and  will  not  loose  me — for  against 
My  hope  she  set  a  coldness  and  a  doubt ! 
O  woman  woven  through  all  fibres  of  me  ! 
(Starting  up.)     But  he ! 

H.EMON  :          Ah  then,  it  runs  in  you,  the  rush 
And  pang  that  answer  mine  ? 

CHARLES  (quietly)  :  If  they  are  still 

HJEMON  :  Under  these  shades  ? 

CHARLES  :  And — lips  to  lips 

[95] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

HEMON  :  Ah,  God  ! 

You  will  ? — you  will  ? 

CHARLES  :  Hush  !  something — No,  it  was 

But  fate  cried  out  in  me,  not  any  voice. 

H^MON  :  We  must  be  swift. 

CHARLES  :  It  cries  again.     I  will 

Not  listen  !     He's  not  flesh  of  me — not  flesh  ! 
A  traitor  is  no  son,  nor  was  nor  shall  be ! 
Though  it  shriek  desolation  utterly 
I  will  not  listen  ! 

HEMON  :  Do  not ! 

CHARLES  :  And  to-day 

He  shook,  ashen  and  clenched,  remembering 
The  guilty  secret  in  him  ! 

HEMON  :  Still  he's  free. 

CHARLES  :  My  words  fell  warm  as  tears — "  A 

rift  has  come, 

A    rift,    a    smile,    a    breath" — men    speak    so 
when 

[96] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

They  creep  from  madness  up  into  some  space 
Whose  element  is  love. 

H.EMON  :  And  will  you  sink 

To  a  weak  palsy — who  should  overwhelm 
With  penalty  ! 

CHARLES  (rousing)  :  No  !  all  and  ever  false 
Was  he  who's  so  when  most  he  should  be  true ! 
I  will  make  treachery  bitter  to  all  time. 
Bring  dread  on  all  to  whom  are  given  sons  ! 
Down  generations  shall  they  peer  and  tremble, 
Look  on  me  as  on  majesties  accursed ! — 
Search  every  shade — search,  search  !     You  stand 

as  death. 
I  am  in  famine  till  he  gives  me  groan  ! 

(They  go  in  opposite  directions. 

Enter  FULVIA,  distressed,  and  GIULIA. 
FULVIA  :  He  was  with  Haemon  ? 
GIULIA  :  On  that  seat. 

[97] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

FULVIA  :  Convulsed, 

Yet  passionless  ? 

GIULIA  :  His  words  were  low, 

FULVIA  :  Why  were 

You  not  asleep? 

GIULIA  :  I 

FULVIA  :  Did  he  beat  his  hands 

Briefly — and  then  no  more  ? 

GIULIA  :  I  was  behind 

FULVIA  :  And  could  not  see  ?     But  heard  their 

names  ? 
The  Greek  is  still  without  ? 

GIULIA  :  My  lady,  yes. 

FULVIA  :  Your    voice    is    guilty.       How    came 

Haemon  in  ? 
Answer  me,  answer  !     No,  go  quickly  !     If 

The  duke  has  entered  now  and  sleeps  !    Or  if ! 

(  Words  and  swords  are  heard,  then  a  shriek 
from  HELENA.     CHARLES  rushes  in  furl- 
[98] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

ous  and  wounded  in  the  arm,  followed 
by  HELENA,  ANTONIO,  who  is  dazed,  and 
from  the  Castle  side  by  HEMON,  guards, 
etc.) 
ANTONIO  :  You,  you,  sir  ?  father  ?     I  knew  it 

not,  so  swift 
Your  rage  fell  on  me. 

CHARLES  (to  a  guard)  :  Gaping,  ghastly  fool ! 
Do  you  behold  him  murderous  and  lay 
No  hand  on  him  ! 

ANTONIO  :  But,  sir ! 

CHARLES  :  Let  him  not  fawn 

About  me  !     Seize  him  !     God  forgives  not  Hell. 
Not  this  blood  only  but  my  soul's  be  on  him. 

HELENA  :  O,  do  not,  he 

CHARLES  :  Stand  !  stand  !     Touch  me  not  with 
Your  voice  or  eyes  or  being  !     They  are  soft 
With  perfidy,  and  stole  me  to  believe 
There's  sweetness  in  a  flower,  light  in  air, 
[99] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

And  beauty  in  the  innocence  of  earth. 
Bind  him  !     Leucadia's  just  cliff  awaits 
All  traitors — ^tis  the  law,  they  must  be  flung 
Out  on  the  dizzy  and  supportless  wind. 

FULVIA  :  But  this  shall  never  be  !     No,  though 

your  looks 
Heave  out  with  hate  upon  me. 

CHARLES    (convulsed,    then    coldly) :     You   are 

dead, 

And  speak  to  me.     Once  you  were  Fulvia — 
No  more  !     And  once  my  friend,  now  but  a  ghost 
Whom  I  must  gaze  upon  forgetlessly. 
Obey,  at  once  !  and  at  to-morrow's  sunset ! 

(ANTONIO  is  taken  and  led  out.) 
HELENA  (falling  at  CHARLES'/^)  :  You  can 
not,  will  not — O,  he  is  your  son 
And  loves  you  much  ! 

CHARLES  :  Touch  me  not !  touch  me  not ! 

(To    H^MON.)    Lead     her     away — and    quickly, 
[100] 


CHARLES    DI 

quickly,    quickly!        (H.EMON    goes   with 

HELENA  through  the  postern. 
Friends — friends  —  (unsteadily)  I  am — quite — 

friendless  now —  ?  (Clutching  his  wounded 

arm.)     Ah — quite!     (He  faints.) 
FULVIA  :  Charles  !  Charles  !  my  lord  !    return  ! 

— A  numbness 
Has  barred  the  way  of  soothing  to  his  breast ! 

CURTAIS 


[101] 


ACT  FOUR 

Scene. — A  chamber  in  the  Castle,  opening  on  the 
right  to  a  hall,  curtained  on  the  left  from 
another  chamber.  In  the  rear  is  a  window 
through  which  may  be  seen  silvery  hills  of 
olive  resting  under  the  late  afternoon  sun :  by 
it  a  shrine.  Enter  the  CAPTAIN  of  the  Guard 
and  a  SOLDIER  from  the  Hall. 

SOLDIER  :  There  is  no  more  ? 

CAPTAIN  :  Not  if  you  understand. 

SOLDIER  :  That  do  I — every  link  of  it !    I've 

served 

Under  the  bold  de  Montreal,  and  he 
For  stratagems — well,  Italy  knows  him  ! 
CAPTAIN  :  You  must  be  quick  and  secret. 
[102] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

SOLDIER  :  As  the  end 

Of  the  world ! 

CAPTAIN  :  Our  duty's  with  the  duke.     But  then 
Antonio  has  our  love. 

SOLDIER  :  That  has  he  !     Ah, 

That  has  he ! 

CAPTAIN  :  Well,  be  close.     None  must  escape, 
Remember,  none  be  hurt.     As  for  the  princess, 
We'll  hear  the  chink  of  ducats  with  her  thanks. 

SOLDIER  :  Madonna  save  her ! — The  Judas  of 

a  father 
Who  robs  her  rest ! 

CAPTAIN  (looking  down  the  hall) :  'Tis  she  who 

comes  this  way. 
So  go,  and  haste.     But  fail  not. 

SOLDIER  :  If  I  do, 

Bury  me  with  a  pagan,  next  a  Turk  ! 

(Goes. 

Enter  FULVIA. 

CAPTAIN  :  Princess — 

[103] 


CHARLES   DI   TOCCA 

FULVIA  :         Our  plans  grow  to  fulfilment — are 
No  way  misplanted  ? 

CAPTAIN  :  Lady,  all  seems  now 

Seasonable  for  their  expected  fruit. 

FULVIA  :  No  accident    appears    to  threat  and 
thwart  them  ? 

CAPTAIN  :  Doubt  not  a  fullest  harvest  of  your 

hope. 

The  duke  himself  shall  for  this  deed  at  last 
Have  benediction. 

FULVIA  :  May  it  be  !     He's  quick, 

Though  quicker  in  forgetting.     I  will  move 
Him  as  I  may. 

CAPTAIN  :          The  kind  and  wise  assaults 
Your  words  shall  make  must  move  him,  gracious 
lady. 

Enter  HJSMON. 
HEMON  :  I  seek  the  duke. 
[104] 


CHARLES    DI   TOCCA 

FULVIA  (dismissing  CAPTAIN   with  a  gesture) : 
You  would  seek  penitence 
Were  you  less  far  in  folly. 

H.EMON  (as  going)  :  O — if  he's 

Not  here,  then 

FULVIA  :  Sorrow  too  would  strain  your  lips, 
Not  cold  defiance. 

H.EMON  :  Pardon  :  if  you  know, 

Where  is  he  ? 

FULVIA  :          Was  it  easy  to  overwhelm 
Under  the  ruin  of  her  dreams  a  sister  ? 

H.EMON  :  Better  beneath  her  dreams  than  un 
der  shame. 

FULVIA  :  Your  rashness   cloaks   itself  in    that 

excuse, 

Your  ruth,  and  your  suspicion  that  has  doomed 
One  innocent. 

H^MON  :          One  innocent !     His  thought 
Had  but  betrayal  for  her  ! 
[105] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 
FULVIA  :  'Tis  the  Greek 

In  you  avows  it,  no  true  voice. 

HEMON  :  Then  'tis 

My  father  murdered  whose  last  moan  I  hear 
Driven  about  me  in  this  castle's  gray 
Cold  spaces.     And  the  dead  speak  not  to  lie. 
FULVIA  :  No,    no.       You    cannot    brave   your 

action  with 
The  spur  of  that  belief. 

HJSMON  :  What  want  you  of  me  ? 

FULVIA  :  This :    ache   and   restlessness   are    on 

you. 

ELfiMON  (impatiently) :  No. 

FULVIA:  And  doubt  begins  in  you  that  as  a 

wolf 

Will  scent  the  wounded  quarry  of  your  conscience. 
H.EMON  :  After  he  lured  and  wooed  her  under 

night 
And  secrecy  ? 

[106] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

FULVIA  :          Not  running  there  will  you 
Escape  its  dread  pursuit. 

H.EMON  :  He  frauded — duped 

His  father's  trust ! 

FULVIA  :  Or  there  !     But  one  refuge 

Have  you  against  its  bitter  ceaseless  tooth, 
And  that  above  the  wilds  of  self-deceit. 

H^MON  :  Why  do  you  wind  so  sinuously  about 

me  ? 

No  refuge  can  be  from  an  hour  that's  done. 
Shall  we  invert  the  glass  or  tilt  the  dial 
To  bring  it  back  ? 

FULVIA  :  But  if  there  were  ? 

H.EMON  :  Where  is 

The  duke — I  will  not  bauble. 

FULVIA  :  If  there  were  ? 

H^MON  :  I  will  no  longer  listen  to  the  worm, 
You  set  to  feed  upon  me — torturing ! 
[107] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

The  sun  melts  to  an  end,  and  with  the  night 
Antonio  will  not  be. 

FULVIA  :  Yet  there  is  time. 

H.EMON  :  The  duke  is  fixed. 
FULVIA  :  No  matter :  'gainst  the  swell 

And  power  of  this  peril  you  must  lean. 

H^MON  :  I ? 

FULVIA  :  Yes. 

H^MON  :  You  have  a  plan  ? 

FULVIA  :  One  that  is  sure. 

(Steps  are  heard.) 
But  through    those  curtains,  quick.     For   more 

seek  out 

The   Captain   of  the  guard.     The   duke    comes 
hither. 

(H^MON  goes  through  the  curtains. 
CHAKLES  enters,  worn,  dishevelled,  and  followed  by 

CECCO.     He  sees  FULVIA  and  pauses. 
FULVIA  :  I  come  to  plead. 
[108] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  (turning  away)  :  Ah !  Nature  should 

have  pled 
With  her  your  mother,  'gainst  conception. 

FULVIA  :  Your  trust  is  causelessly  withdrawn. 

Yet  for 
A  breath  again  I  beg  it — for  a  moment ! 

CHARLES  :  A  moment  were  too  much — or  not 

enough. 

Is  trust  a  flower  of  sudden  birth  we  may 
Bid  bloom  with  a  command  ? 

FULVIA  :  Ah,  that  it  were, 

Or  bloomed  as  amaranth  in  those  we  love, 
Beyond  all  drought  and  withering  of  ill ! 

But  hear  me ! 

CHARLES.          Leave  these  words. 
FULVIA  :  Will  you  not  turn 

Out  of  this  rage  ? 

CHARLES  :  Leave  them,  I  say,  and  cease  ! 

[109] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Still  down  the  vortex  of  this  destiny 
I  would  not  farther  have  you  drawn. 

FULVIA  :  Then  from 

It  draw  yourself! 

CHARLES  :  Myself  am  but  a  hulk 

Whose  treasures  have  already  been  engulfed. 

FULVIA  :  Yet  shrink  from  it ! 

CHARLES  :  A  son,  a  friend,  a — No, 

She  was  not  mine  ! — I  will  not  turn. 

FULVIA  :  It  is 

Your  fury  that  distorts  us  into  guilt. 
Although  he  will  not  render  up  his  heart, 
But  flings  you  stony  and  unfilial  speech, 
Fearing  for  her 

CHARLES  :  Leave ! 

FULVIA  :  We 

CHARLES  :  Thrice  have  I  said  it ! 

FULVIA  :  Yet  must  I  not  until  your  will   is 
wasted. 

[110] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  (angrily)  :  Ah  ! 

(FULVIA  sighs  then  goes  slowly.) 
CHARLES  .  Cecco  ! 

CECCO  :  My  lord  ? 

CHARLES  :  The  hour  ? 

CECCO  (going  to  window)  :       It  leans  to  sunset. 
CHARLES  :  The  sky — the  sky  ? 
CECCO  :  A  murk  moves  slowly  up. 

CHARLES  (wearily) :  There  should  be   storm — 

gloating  of  wind  and  grind 
Of  hopeless  thunders.     Lightnings  should  laugh 

out 

As  tongues  of  fiends.     There  should  be  storm. 
(His  head  sinks  on  his  breast.) 

(Suddenly.)     Yet !— yet ! 

CECCO  :  My  lord  ? 

CHARLES  :          The  glow  and  glory  of  her  seem 
Dead  in  me ! 

CECCO  :         Of— the  Greek  ? 
[Ill] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  And  yearning  has 

Grown  impotent — as  'twere  a  moment's  folly, 
A  left  and  quickly  quenched  desire  of  youth 
Kindled  in  me  ! — To  youth  alone  love's  sudden. 
CECCO  :  Sir,  dare  I  speak  ? 
CHARLES  :  Speak. 

CECCO  :  When  Antonio 

CHARLES  :  Cease :   but  a  whisper  of  his  name 

and  I 

Am  frenzy — frenzy — though  the  stillness   burns 
And  bursts  with  it ! 

(CECCO  steps  back.     A  pause.) 
CHARLES  :  The  sun,  how  hangs  it  now  ? 

CECCO  (going  to  window)  :  Above  the  bloody 

waving  of  the  sea, 
Eager  to  dip. 

CHARLES    (staggering  lip) :    Ah,  I    was    in    a 

foam 

Bitten  by  hounds  of  fury  and  despair ! 
[112] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Did  you  not,  Fulvia,  pleading  for  them  say 
They  quailed  but  would  not  flee  and  leave  me  waste? 

CECCO  :  She  is  not  here,  my  liege. 

CHARLES  :  Antonio ! 

Ah,  boy  !  thou  ever  wast  to  me  as  wafts 
Of  light,  of  song,  of  summer  on  the  hills  ! 
Soft  now  I  feel  thy  baby  arms  about  me, 
And  all  the  burgeon  of  thy  youth,  ere  proud 
And  cruel  years  grew  in  me,  comes  again 
On  wings  and  stealing  winds  of  memory  ! 

CECCO  :  O,  then,  sir 

CHARLES  :  Yes.  Fly,  fly  !  and  stay  the  guard ! 
He  must  not — Ah  ! — down  fearful  fathoms,  down 
Into  the  roar ! 

(CECCO  starts.     He  stops  him.) 

Yet  he  has  flung  me  from 
Immeasurable  peaks,  and  I  have  sunk 
Forevermore  beneath  hope's  horizon. 
Who  falls  so  close  the  grave  can  rise  no  more, 
[113] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CECCO  :  This  your  despair  would   wound  him 

more  than  death. 
Forget  the  girl. 

CHARLES  :  She  ?  Ah,  my  sullen,  wild, 

And  gloomy  pulse  beat  with  a  rightful  scorn 
Against  the  hours  that  sieged  it.     Stony  was 
Its  solitude  and  fierce,  bastioned  against 
All  danger  of  quick  blisses — till,  with  fury 
For  that  mute  tenderness  which  women's  love 
Lays  on  the  desolation  of  the  world, 
She  ravished  it ! — Yet  now  'tis  still  and  cold. 

CECCO  :  But  'twas  unknowingly. 

CHARLES  :  A  woman^s  smile 

Never  was  luring,  never,  but  she  knew  it, 
As  hawk  the  cruel  rapture  of  his  wings. 

CECCO  :  She  though  is  young,  and  youth 

CHARLES  :  Must  pay  with  moan 

The    shriving  ! — Ah,   the    sun — the    sun — where 
burns  it  ? 

[114] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CECCO  :  Upon  a  cloud  whence  it  must  spring 
to  night. 

CHARLES  :  So  low  ? 

CECCO  :  Sir,  yes. 

CHARLES  :  Ah,  'tis  ?  so  low  ? 

CECCO  :  Red  now 

It  rushes  forth. 

CHARLES  :          A  breathing  of  the  world, 
And  then  ! — Antonio  ! 

CECCO  :  Again  a  cloud 

Withholds. 

CHARLES  :  Antonio ! 

CECCO  :  It  dips,  my  lord. 

CHARLES  (frenzied)  :  O,  will  great  Christ  upon 

it  lay  no  fear  ! 

Let  it  swoon  down  as  if  its  sinking  sent 
No  signal  unto  Death — and  plunge,  plunge  thee, 
Antonio,  forever  from  the  day  ! 
Has  He  no  miracle  will  seize  it  yet ! 
[115] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Nor  will  lend  now  His  thunder  to  cry  hold, 
His  lightning  to  flame  off  the  hands  that  grasp, 
Bidden  to  hurl  thee  o'er  ! 

CECCO  :  Tis  sunk  i 

CHARLES  (rushing  to  window)  :         Yes  ! Yes  ! 

(Starting  back  horrified.)     The  vision  of 
it !     Ah, — see  you  not,  see  ! 
They  lift  him,  swing  him — Now!    down,  down, 

down,  down  ! 
The  rocks  !  the  lash  !  the  foam  ! 

(Sinks  exhausted  in  his  chair.    CECCO  pours 
out  wine.) 

Enter  hurriedly,  a  SOLDIER. 
SOLDIER  :  Great  lord  ! 

CECCO  :  What  now  ! 

It  is  ill-timed  ! 

SOLDIER  :          Great  lord,  there's  mutiny  ! 
CECCO  :  And  where  ? 

SOLDIER  :      Hear  me,  great  sir,  there's  mutiny  ! 
[116] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CECCO  :  The  town  ?  the  town  ? 

CHARLES  (rousing)  :  Ay ? 

SOLDIER  :  Mutiny  !  your  haste  ! 

CHARLES  :  O,  mutiny. 

SOLDIER  :  Sir,  yes  ! 

CHARLES  :  And  do  the  ranks 

Of  hell  roar  up  at  me  ? — It  is  not  strange. 

SOLDIER    (confused):    The    ranks    of — pardon, 
lord. 

CHARLES  :  Do  the  skies  rage ? 

They  were  else  dead  to  madness. 

SOLDIER  :  Sir,  it  is 

Your  guard  beyond  the  gates. 

CHARLES  :  'Tis  every  throat 

Of  earth  and  realm  unearthly  has  a  cry 
Against  me  and  against ! 

SOLDIER  :  No,  but  a  few 

CHARLES  :  You   doubt   it  ? — Are  my  eyes  not 
bloody  ?     Say  ! 

[117] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

SOLDIER  :  Sir  !  sir  ! 

CHARLES  :  My  lips  then  are  not  pale  with  murder 
Bitterly  done  ? 

SOLDIER  :          Pale — no. 
CHARLES  :  Yet  have  I  killed  ; 

Spoke    death    with    them — not    reasonless — yet 

death. 

And  all  the  lost  have  echoes  of  it :  hear 
You  not  a  spirit  clamor  on  the  air  ? 
Ploughing  as  storms  of  pain  it   passes   through 

me. 

Mutiny  ?     Go.     I  could  call  chaos  fair, 
And  fawn  on  infinite  ruin — fawn  and  praise. 

(SOLDIER  goes. 

Yet  will  not  yield  !     (To  CECCO.)     My  robes  and 
coronet ! 

(CECCO  goes  to  obey. 

I'll  sit  in  them  and  mock  at  greatness  that 
A  passion  may  unthrone.     If  we  weep  not 
[118] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Calamity  will  leave  to  torture  us, 

And  fate  for  want  of  tears  will  thirst  to  death ! 

Enter  CARDINAL. 
Ah,  priestly  sir. 

CARDINAL  :          Infuriate  man  ! 
CHARLES  :  Speak  so. 

I  lust  for  bitterness. 

CARDINAL  :  What  have  you  done ! 

CHARLES  (shuddering,  then  sniffing)  :  Watched 
the  sun  set.     Did  it  not,  think  you,  bleed 
Unwontedly  along  the  waves? 

CARDINAL  :  O  horror  ! 

Horrible  when  a  father  slays  and  smiles ! 

CHARLES  :  Not  so,  lord  Cardinal,  not  so  ! — but 

when 
He  slays  and  smileth  not. 

CARDINAL  :  Beyond  all  mercy  ! 

CHARLES  :  Therefore  I  smile.     Men  should  not 
mid  the  trite 

[119] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

Enchanting  and  vain  trickery  of  earth 
Till  they  no  longer  hope  of  it,  or  want. 
Smiles  should  be  kept  for  life's  unbearable. 
CARDINAL  :  Murderer  ! 
CHARLES  :  Ah ! 

CARDINAL  :  Heretic ! 

CHARLES:  Well. 

(Goes  to  shrine  and  casts  it  out  the  window.) 
CARDINAL  :  Fool !  fool ! 

CHARLES  :  There  are  no  wise  men,  O  lord  Car 
dinal. 
CARDINAL  :  Heaven  let  Antonio's  death  under 

the  sea 

Make  every  wave  a  tongue  against  your  rest, 
And  'gainst  the  rock  of  this  impenitence ! 

(CHARLES  listens  as  to  something  afar  off'.) 

No  wind  should  blow  that  has  not  sting  of  it, 
No  light  stream  that  it  stains  not  I 
[120] 


CHARLES   DI   TOCCA 

CHARLES  (sighing)  :  You  have  loosed 

Your  robe,  lord  prelate — see. 

CARDINAL  :  O  stone  !  thou  stone  ! 

CHARLES  :  Have  peace.     A   keener  cry  comes 

up  to  me 

Than  frenzy  can  invoke :  a  vaster  pain 
Than  justice  from  Omnipotence  may  call. 

CARDINAL  :  My  lips  shall  learn  it. 

CHARLES:  "  Father  "  moans  it.    "Father!" 

It  is  my  ears'  inheritance  forever. 
Enter  FULVIA 

FULVIA  :  Lord  Cardinal,  one  of  your  servants 

has 

In  quarrel  been  struck,  and  mortally  'tis  feared. 
Quickly  to  him  :  then  I  may  plead  of  you 
Escort  to  Rome. 

CARDINAL  :  I  do  not  understand. 

FULVIA  :  But  shall. 

CARDINAL  :  To  Rome  ? 

[121] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

FULVIA  :  Do  not  pause  here  to  learn 

With  the  dear  minutes  of  a  dying  man. 

(CARDINAL  goes. 

^  o 

CHARLES  :  You  baffle  and  bewilder. 

FULVIA  :  Well. 

CHARLES  :  You — ? — Yes ! 

I  am  beat  off  by  it. 

FULVIA  :  Ten  years  of  shelter 

Have  you  held  over  me. 

CHARLES  :  Ten  years 

FULVIA  :  Whose  days, 

Whose  every  moment  else  had  borne  a  torture. 

CHARLES  :  Now ? 

FULVIA  :  I,  perhaps,  must  go. 

CHARLES  :  Must  ? — Still  I  grope. 

FULVIA  :  Must  go !     Though   in    this    castle's 

aged  calm 

And  melancholy  dusk  no  shadow  is 
Or  niche  but  may  remember  prayer  for  thee. 
[122] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  To  Rome  ?     You  must  ? — I  am  un 
der  a  spell. 

FULVIA  .  We,  thou  and  I,  after  the  battled  foam 
Or  chasers  tired  return,  often  have  breathed 
The  passionate  deep  hours  away  in  rest 
And  sympathy. 

CHARLES  :  Say  on.     Your  voice — I  marvel 

FULVIA  :  And  at  the  dawn   have  looked  and 

sighed,  then  slow 
With  quiet  clasp  of  fingers  turned  apart. 

CHARLES  :  You  go  ? — But,  on  ! — your  tone- — 

in  it  I  feel 

FULVIA  :  Have  we  not  fast  been  friends  ? 
CHARLES  :  What  hath  your  voice  ? 

FULVIA  :  Such    friends    have   we   not    been    as 

grow  up  from 
Eternity  ? 

CHARLES  :     You  say  it,  and  I  wake. 

FULVIA  :  Such  friends — till  yesterday  you 

[123] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  : 

FULVIA  :  Changed  sudden  as  the  sea  when  com- 
eth  storm. 

CHARLES  :  I  had  forgot — forgot ! — the  sun  ! 

the  sea ! 

The  sea!— Antonio!— The  cliff— the  surf! 
The  shroud  and  funeral  fury  of  the  waves  ! 
FULVIA  :  Be  calm. 
CHARLES  (rising  excitedly)  :  111  stay  it !    Cecco, 

our  fleetest  foot ! 

A  rain  of  ducats  if  he  shall  outspeed 
This  doom  on  us.      More !    more !    a  flood  of 
them, 

If  he 

FULVIA  (drawing  him  to  his  chair)  :  Be  patient 

— calm. 

CHARLES  :  I— I— remember, 

'Tis  night ! 

FULVIA  :       Yes,  night. 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  The  sun's  no  more !     It  hath 

Gone  down  beyond  all  mercy  and  recall. 

FULVIA  :  Beyond  ? — Ah ! 

CHARLES  (quickly)  :  Fulvia  ? 

FULVIA  :  Tis  hard  to  think  ! 

CHARLES  :  You  utter  and  he  seemeth  still  of  life. 

FULVIA  :  He  was  a  child  in  mimic  mail  clad  out 
When  first  this  threshold  poured  its  welcome  to 
me. 

CHARLES  :  Softly  you  muse  it,  and  call  to  your 

eyes 

No  quailing  nor  a  flame  of  execration ! 
You  do  not  burst  out  on  me  ?  from  me  do 
Not  shrink  as  from  an  executioner  ? 

FULVIA  :  I  am  a  woman  who  in  tears  came  to 
Your  strength,  in  tears  depart. 

CHARLES  :  And  will  not  judge  ? 

But  fear  me — fear,  and  flee  ? — You  shall  not  go  ! 

FULVIA  :  Perhaps 

[125] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  Again  "  perhaps  " — this  calm  "  per 
haps  ! " 

To  Rome  ? — I  say  you  shall  not. 

FULVIA  :                                            Yet  should  he, 
Antonio,  from  those  curtains  come 

CHARLES  :  Should — should  ? 

You  speak  not  reasonably.     Why  do  you  say 
"  If  he  should  come  ?  " 

FULVIA  :  Because 

CHARLES  :  YouVe  touched 

And  led  me  trembling  from  reality  ! 
Those  curtains  ? — those  ?— just  those? — You  shall 
not  go. 

FULVIA  :  I  will  not  then. 

CHARLES  :          But  something  breaks  from  you, 
And  as  an  air  of  resurrection  stirs. 
Speak ;  on  your  words  I  wait  unutterably. 

FULVIA  :  Did  not  a  soldier  lately  come,  my  lord, 

Breathless  with  eager  speech  of  mutiny ? 

[  126  ] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  Well — well ? 

FULVIA  :  Within  your  guard  ? 

CHARLES  :  My  guard  ?     No — yes 

What  do  I  see  yet  cannot  in  your  words? 

FULVIA  :  The  mutiny  was  roused  at  my  com 
mand. 

CHARLES  :  Say  it — say  all  ! 

FULVIA  :  To  save  you  the  mad  blot 

Of  a  son's  blood. 

CHARLES  :  Antonio ? 

FULVIA  :  Lives ! 

CHARLES  :  Low — low 

Joy  come  too  furious  has  piercing  peril. 

He  lives  ? — You  have  done  this  ?    With  these  soft 

hands, 

These  little  hands,  held  off  the  shears  of  Fate  ? 
Have  dared  ?  and  have  not  feared  ? 

FULVIA  :  Your  danger  was 

My  fear — that,  and  no  more. 
[127] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CHARLES  :  He  lives? — I  have 

No  worth,  no  gratitude,  no  gift  that  may 
Answer  this  deed — no  glow,  no  eloquence 
But  would  ring  poor  in  rarest  words  of  earth. 
He  lives? — Years  yet  are  mine.  Too  brief  they'll  be 
To  muse  with  love  of  this  ! 

FULVIA  :  No,  no,  my  lord. 

CHARLES  :  But  where  is  he  ?     Belief,  tho1  risen, 

strains 

In  me  as  if  'twere  fast  in  cerements 
That  seeing  must  unbind. 

FULVIA  :  Turn  then,  and  see. 

(ANTONIO  steps  from  the  curtains.) 
CHARLES  :  Antonio  ! — boy  1  boy  ! 
ANTONIO  :  My  father!     (They  embrace.) 

Re-enter  CARDINAL. 
CARDINAL  :  Princess, 

If  your  decision  and  desire  are  still 

(Sees  ANTONIO.) 

[138] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

FULVIA  :  Your  eyes  look  upon  flesh,  lord  Car 
dinal. 

(A  cry  is  heard,  then  weeping.) 
ANTONIO    (startled)  :    Whose    pain    is    this  ? — 

strangely  it  hurts  me — strangely  ! 
Enter  CECCO  hastily,  bearing  robe  and  coronet. 
CECCO  :    My    lord,     the    lady    Helen's     little 

maid 

(Sees  ANTONIO.     Shrinks  from  him.) 
ANTONIO  :  What  of  her  ?     Are  you  horrified  to 

stone ! 
Her  maid  ? — There  are    than    risen   dead  worse 

things 
And  worse  to  dread  ! — her  maid  ? 

CECCO  :  Sir 

ANTONIO  :  Forth  with  it ! 

She  direness  of  her  mistress  brings  ?  some  tale 
That  earth  elsewhere  abyssless  gaped  her  up  ? 
That  butterfly  or  bud  turn  asp  to  bite  her  ? 
[  129  J 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

CECCO  :    Sir — she — the   maid   craves   audience 

with  the  duke. 
ANTONIO  :  Fetch  her,  and  quickly. 

(CECCO  goes. 

FULVIA  :  Reason,  Antonio. 

She  will  but  whimper,  tell  what  overmuch 
Of  grief  her  mistress  makes  for  you  :  of  tears 
Your  sunny  coming  will  dry  in  her. 

ANTONIO  (putting  her  aside)  :  These 

Hours  come  not  of  any  good,  but  are 
Infected  with  resolved  adversity. 

This  dread  ! 

FULVIA  :       They  ever  dread  who  have  but  quit 
The  shadow  of  some  doom  and  the  dismay. 
Re-enter  CECCO,  with  PAULA  weeping. 
ANTONIO  :  Girl !  girl !     Thy  mistress  ? 

PAULA  (shrinking)  :  O  ! 

ANTONIO  :  I  am  no  ghost. 

Thy  mistress  ? 

[130] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

PAULA  :  Mary,  Mother !     (Sinks  praying.) 

ANTONIO  (lifting"  her  up)  :  Look  on  me.     See ! 
I  have  not  been  down  in  the  grave,  nor  ev'n 
A  moment  beyond  earth.     Do  you  not  hear ! 

PAULA  (looking  at  him)  :  Sir  ! 

ANTONIO  :  Tell  me. 

PAULA     (hysterically)  :  Go  to  her, 

O,  go  to  her. 

ANTONIO  :  But,  child ? 

PAULA  :      She,  O  ! — go  seek  her,  O,  she  is 

ANTONIO  :  Where,  Paula  ? 

PAULA  :  Blind  all  day  she  moaned  and  wept. 

ANTONIO  :  My  Helena  ! 

PAULA  :  And  when  the  sun  was  gone, 

Came  quiet,  kissed  me — O,  go  seek  her,  sir ! 

ANTONIO  :  Kissed  you ? 

PAULA  :        Then  to  me  gave  these  jewels.     O ! 
And  darkly  cloaked  stole  out  into  the  night. 

CHARLES  :  Alone  ? 

[131] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

ANTONIO  :  Whither,  quick,  whither  ? 

PAULA  :  Ah,  I  do 

Not  know  :  but  she 

ANTONIO  :  Pray,  pray,  tell  out  your  dread. 

PAULA  :  Last  night  she  said,  "  My  heart  is  in 

my  lord 

Antonio's  to  beat  or  cease  with  it." 
I  learned  her  words — they  seemed  so  pretty. 

CHARLES  (gasping)  :  Ah ! 

ANTONIO  :  Why  do  you  gasp  ? — Paula 

CHARLES  :  If  she — the  cliff! 

ANTONIO  :  The  cliff!     The — ? 

(Staggers  dizzily,  then  rushes  out. 

CHARLES  :  Let  one  go  with  him — bring 

Us  what  hath  passed — hath  passed. 

(A  SOLDIER  goes. 

PAULA  (with  uncontrollable  terror)  :  My  lady  ! 

CHARLES  :  Child, 

I  cannot  bear  thy  voice  upon  my  heart ! 
[132] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

It  hath  a  tone — a  clutch — no  more,  no  more! 
I  cannot  bear  it !     We  must  wait.     No  hap 
Has  been — no  hap,  I  think — surely  no  hap. 

Enter  BARD  AS  deprecatingty,  followed  by  ANTONIO. 

BARD  AS  :  Antonio  !  not  in  the  sea  ?    You  live? 

ANTONIO  :  I  say,  where  is  she  ? 

BARDAS  :  You  are  mortal  ? 

ANTONIO  (groaning  with  impatience) :  O 

This  utter  superstition  !     (Pricking  his  arm.)     Is 
it  not  blood  ? 

BARDAS:  You  live  !  and  live?  but  let  her  think 

your  death  ! 

You  let  her !  still  devising  for  yourself 
Safety  and  preservation ! 

ANTONIO  :  She's  not  safe  ? 

BARDAS  :  O,  safe — if  she  had  shrift ! 

CHARLES  (hoarsely)  :  The  dead  are  so ! 

BARDAS  :  Ay,  so. 

[133] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

ANTONIO  :  And    none   above    the   grave  ? — no 
answer  ? 

BARDAS:  She   came  unto    the    cliff  amid   her 

tears — 

Her  being  all  into  one  want  was  fused, 
You  down  the  wave  to  follow. 

ANTONIO  :  But  you  grasped ? 

You  held  her  ? 

BARDAS  :     Yes 

ANTONIO  :  Then — well  ? 

BARDAS  :  She  had  a  phial. 

ANTONIO  :  God !  God  ! 

BARDAS  :      Out  of  her  breast  she  drew  it  swift, 
And  instant  of  it  drank. 

ANTONIO  :  Drank  ?  and  she  fell  ? 

No  ? — no  ? — Ah  but  you  dashed  it  from  her  lips  ? 
She  did  but  taste  ? 

BARDAS  :  Only  :  and  then 

ANTONIO  :  More  ?  more  ? 

[134] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

BARD  AS  :  "Is  't  not  enough,""  she  pled  to  me, 

"  Enough 

That  I  must  wander  the  cold  way  of  death 
Unto  his  arms  ?     Go  hence !     There  is  no  rest. 
I  will  go  down  and  clasp  him,  drift  with  him 
To  some  unhabited  gray  ocean  vale 
God  hath  forgot.     There  will  we  dwell  away 
From  destiny  and  weeping,  from  despair  !  " 

CHARLES  :  You  left  her  ? 

BARDAS  :                     As  I  held  her  piteous  hand 
Came  revellers  who  saw  us — jested  her 
Of  taking  a  new  love.     She  broke  my  grasp 

ANTONIO  :  And  leapt  ? — down  the  wide  air  ? 

BARDAS  :  Swifter  than  all 

Prevention. 

ANTONIO  :  Helena !  O  Helena ! 

That  all  thy  loveliness  should  fare  to  this, 
Thy  glory  go  in  dark  calamity ! 
[135] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

BARDAS  :  I  saw  her  as  she  leapt  and  until  death 
Shall  see  no  more. 

ANTONIO  (drawing)  :  Blot  it  from  you !     Her 

face, 

Her  sorrow  and  her  fairness  shall  not  stand 
Imprisoned  in  your  eye,  tho1  'twere  to  cry 
Relentlessly  your  crime.— But  no — but  no ! 

(Sheathing"  his  sword,  he  pauses,  then  stag 
gers  suddenly  out.) 
PAULA  :  Let  me  go  to  my  lady ! 
CHARLES  :  Still  her !     She 

Forever  hath  a  fluttering,  a  cry, 
Undurably.     It  presses  the  lone  air 
With  sensitive  and  aching  agony. 

PAULA  (witlessly,  in  tears)  :  I  know  thy  song, 

my  lady,  I  know,  I  know ! 

Twas  pretty  and  'twas  strange,  but  now  I  know. 
(Sings.)  Sappho  !  Sappho  ! 
In  maiden  woe 

[136] 


CHARLES   DI   TOCCA 

(Let  alone  love,  it  spurns  and  burns !) 
Wept — wept,  and  leapt — 
O  love  is  so ! 

(Let  alone  love,  it  burns !) 
My  lady  !  O  my  lady  !  my  sweet  lady  ! 

(She  is  led  out.) 

FULVIA  :  This  is  most  sad — most  sad,  and  pitiful. 
CHARLES  :  I  cannot  bear  her  voice  upon  my  heart. 

Enter  AGABUS  gazing*  into  the  air. 
Again  this  monk  ?  this  dog  of  death  ? — and  now  ? 
AGABUS  :  My  trusty  Shadow.     (Laughs  madly.) 

Ha,  he  has  been  here ! 

My   king    o'   the   worms   and   all    corruption  ! — 
(Approaching    CHARLES.)      Lovers,    and   lovers  1 

O  she  leapt  as  'twere 

To  Christ  and  not  sin's  Pit !     And  he  is  gone 
To  follow  her !     The  devil's  nine  wits  are 
Too  many ! 

(Wanders  about.) 

[137] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

FULVIA  :  My  lord  !     Your  limbs  are  frozen, 
And    bloodlessly   you    stand !     Move,    rouse,    O 

breathe ! 
It  is  not  truth  but  madness  that  he  speaks. 

(A  cry  and  clanking  of  armor  are  heard 
in  the  Hall.  A  SOLDIER  bursts  Into  the 
chamber.) 

SOLDIER  :  O  duke !  O  duke !    (Sinks  to  his  knee.) 
CHARLES  (gazes  at  him,  struggling  to  speak)  : 

Rise — go — and,  if  thou  canst — 
To  pray. 

SOLDIER  :  O,  sir ! 

CHARLES  :  You  have  no  tidings. 

SOLDIER  :  Sir 

CHARLES  (desperately)  :  None,  fool !  but  come 

to  say  what  silence  groans, 
What  earth  numb  .and  in  deadness  raves  to  me. 
To  tell  Antonio  hath  gone  out  and  o'er 
A  precipice  hath  stepped  for  sake  of  love. 
[138] 


CHARLES    DI    TOCCA 

This  is  not  tidings — hath  it  not  on  me 

Been  fixed  forever  ?     It  is  older  than 

Despair,  as  old  as  pain!     (To   HEMON,  who  has 

entered.)     Your  sister 

BARD  AS  :  Haemon ! 

CARDINAL  :  Hold  him  not  in  this  anguish. 
FULVIA  :  She  and  our 

Antonio  have  left  us  to  our  tears. 
(HEMON  stands  motionless.) 
CHARLES  :  Let  no  one  groan.     I  say  let  no  one 

groan — 
Fury  on  him  that  groans  !     (He  blindly  rocks  to 

and  fro.) 

FULVIA  :  My  lord  ! 

CHARLES  (taking  her  hand)  :  Well — come. 

(As  in  a  trance.) 

There's  much  to  do.     We  will  think  of  the  dead. 
Perchance  'twill  keep  them  near  us  :  speak  to  them, 
And  they  may  answer  while  we  wait,  may  float 
[139] 


CHARLES    DI   TOCCA 

Dim  words  on  moonbeams  to  us.     O  for  one 
That  shall  sound  of  forgiveness  and  of  rest ! 
(More  wildly.) 

O  I  have  started  on  the  mountain's  brow 
A  tremor  that  has  loosed  the  avalanche ; 
And  penitence  too  late — too  late — too  late — 
Was  powerless  as  flowers  along  its  path  ! 

(He  sinks  back  into  his  chair  and  stares 
hopelessly  before  him.) 

CURTAIN. 


[140] 


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